Blackmail
by Kachie-Chan
Summary: Mac's in his junior year of high school, when an unexpected visitor makes an entrance... MacxRichie, MacxBloo?, Slash. Rated M for later.
1. A Shocking Shame

It was a day like every other day, and the high school bell rung repeatedly to signal the ending of classes. Children poured out every pore of the school that wasn't locked, like sweat on the hot summer street. School had just begun another term, and day one had gone just as every day had gone for the freshmen of every year. The crazy process of hazing and beating made it hell for the new comers, some of which couldn't take the heat and had stopped coming.

Thankfully, for one brand spanking new Junior, he didn't have to deal with that his first day. He had been the one to lead his class in a revolt against the Seniors, a protest that got him detention for defiling the school with rolls of toilet paper he had used as projectiles, but a battle won indeed. These newbie's were half as intelligent as him, and he scoffed at their ability to get trampled on by the idiots of the upperclassmen.

That Junior, that genius was Mac.

Mac had grown older and even wiser over the years. His stature was still short, a tiny 5'2 compared to his 6' friends that towered over him like the sky scrapers of Townsville. Even though Mac was small, he was a star on the soccer team, a sport he had adopted through the rigorous 'training' his brother had done making him run all the time. At least now, he was able to put his leg strength to good use.

Mac's hair stayed at his shoulders, just like in his childhood, and his favorite shirt – though altered in color – remained its original style, a t-shirt over a long sleeved shirt. Not the best fashion, but he preferred to be practical and comfortable rather than not.

His pants, always a size too big for them and as regularly khaki brown as ever, to match his forest green shirt which he had gotten this year for Christmas and loved so. His sneakers were about the only things in style, as they were the newest ConStar model he had gotten with his birthday money, money he had been saving up for a special occasion.

He was just a bit disappointed when his shoes were the same color, size and feel of his old shoes. Yet, he was still held in a bit more respect to have that brand name on it – all the popular kids would even give him high fives down the hall.

Something's never changed; such was the case for his back pack. It was a large thing, and he refused to get rid of it. Not with all those memories. Although beaten up and worn, it still could carry books and he never got tired of finding mysterious stains on it when he was going to put it in the wash.

Now, with faithful bag slung over his shoulder, he pushed past the crowd of children in the hall to reach his locker, where he skillfully seized the lock and was turning it precisely when a strong hand came slamming near the side of his head. He looked in terror, thinking it was his older brother come to terrorize him again – but instead, with wide brown eyes, he only saw a stranger.

"You don't remember me, Mac?"

His name was spat, spitefully almost. Upon further inspection, he could tell the stranger easily.

It was his _rival_, his _rich_ rival. His _taller_, rich rival.

The teen had hair that had been gelled back, sticking straight out and waved. The uniform of a private school student buttoned to his body in perfect fit, and his 6' foot stature looming over him like a dark cloud of discontentment.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school, _Richie_?"

Mac hissed, pulling his lock out of place and clenching it in his palm, freeing his locker of its confines. He twisted around to fully face his enemy, the enemy wasn't particularly afraid of but still didn't appreciate the threat of how close he was.

Mac was not a huggy person.

"I am at school."

"I mean _your_ school."

Richie only scoffed, snorting his snobby laugh, using his nostrils to make some disgusting sound he assumed he taught himself smelling his own butt all the time. He giggled in his head at such a funny joke, but quickly was brought back to reality when yet another arm came to trap him against his locker and the laughter abruptly stopped.

"Ah… well… back to business."  
_  
What business?_ Mac thought out of reaction

"Foster's, you go there right? Well, I want it."

"You…. _Want_ it?"

"Yes."

Mac tried to wrap his head around the concept but fell short, Richie was well… rich but he couldn't OWN Foster's. Foster's was a charitable organization, and as far a Mac knew – not for sale. Suppose he was wrong?

Flabbergasted, Mac's face turned an unsightly pale color. Staring quietly, he pulled the lock he had been fondling for the last few minutes to his chest, cupping it with both hands and fiddling with it nervously – he could feel cold sweat drip down his neck. Now, Mac was a smart boy, but even so – he was worried about what the power of money could do.

"Why…?"

Was the only thing that could sputter from his lips, unbeknownst to him – his body was shaking like a leaf and Richie was slowly getting closer to his face, trapping him in a bubble of fear and confusion.

A barely audible hiss of a whisper crawled into his ear, making his face grow red and his heart pump faster than normal. Sweaty, and hot – this feeling was strange… it felt so wrong.

"Because I _need_ you."

---

**Authors Note: Holy cow, I'm back! Well, I've been REALLY in to Fosters Home fanfictions lately and so many good ones are out there that I just needed to make one for myself. Please read and review my friends! I'll be having this beta'd very shortly, so please keep grammar and spelling comments to yourself because they'll be revised within a day or so.**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Fosters or any of its characters. _


	2. Emotional Warfare

_How did this happen?_

Was the question that swam through the young man's head as he hurried down the sidewalks of his home town, not even noticing the sweat stains under his arm pits or how completely red his face had gotten. No, Mac could only pay attention to the throbbing of his entire body as he rushed forward, walking fast, but not quite running.

A book gripped to his chest, the life – or there lack of – being squeezed out of it by the boy's shaking, stressed arms. His head down, his hair in his face, and without much of a mental picture where he was heading, he walked as fast as he could away from school and away from Richie Wildebrat.

Sub-consciously, he found he had led himself to the park, to his favorite park bench, under his favorite oak tree, but even these luxuries did not calm him. He plopped down upon the wooden seat, and shoved his back pack beside him – dropping the book in his lap in the process. His hands flew to his shoulders, hugging them to him as if it were cold out, his entire body in a violent tremble that he could not control.

_This isn't right._

Mac took a great deal of time to calm down, at least an hour. By that time, the sky had gotten just a bit darker, and he could feel his legs again. That's when he recalled the events that led to this particular outcome, the events that had rattled him from the inside out.

--

"_Look, I know how much Fosters means to you."_

Mac only stared in awe at Richie, who whispered to him his motive for saying such a thing, a thing so disgusting he was feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

_He would have given anything at that moment to be by himself, to get away from Richie. _

_It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all._

"_Here's my… proposition. Either you do what I want, when I want it or… I'll buy Fosters, and turn it into a mall or something. Get it?"_

Mac couldn't believe the words he was hearing and he didn't believe them to be true. It was all just a stupid joke he was playing on him, and in the end they would laugh and Richie would go back to his own school and stay there.

_Mac desperately wanted this to be reality, but he quickly realized it wasn't. Not just by the look on Richie's face, but in the seriousness of his voice._

_Richie pushed himself skillfully from the lockers, dismantling the box he had forced Mac to stay within, he only smirked as Mac took off like a rocket when he was given the chance, dropping his lock on the floor in the process, forming an unsightly crack down the middle of the plastic plating on the dial._

--

It was almost comical, how hard he had been shaking and what kind of thoughts went through his head – ranging from 'Maybe if I blow up his house' to 'I'll just get a lion and let it loose in his backyard'.

Once the shaken teen calmed down, he began to slowly consider each option he had.

If he listened to Richie, he wouldn't have any dignity left. Made to do some sort of chore, or do other such embarrassing things, like wear a dress in public or something. If he didn't, what if Richie purchased the land Foster's was on and evicted them? Richie's father was the 2nd richest man in the world, after all – anything and everything was at his disposal. That thought terrified him to no end.

Then he began to consider another possibility – What if Madam Foster simply doesn't want to go? He tried his best to make himself feel better, explaining to himself that Madam Foster was an icon, and she was a strong willed women. No one would be able to just _buy_ Foster's on her watch.

Mac smirked at his new discovery, gathering up his things and heading to Fosters after his few moments of thought and consideration. On the way, he had got to thinking about why Richie even said those things he said… Wanted him? What could he want him for?

Before he could go any deeper, he arrived at Fosters at exactly the ding of 3:00. Mr. Herriman glared in his direction, as his foot had barely been through the door at the time of the ringing. Mac only smiled and waved in his direction, to which the stuffed up rabbit huffed and hoped off to chastise some poor soul somewhere.

Bloo stormed down the stairs when he heard the door pull open and shove his face into Mac's accusingly – at least, what he could reach of it.

"You said we'd test it today Mac! You're late!" 

"I know, I know… I'm sorry. Let's go."

Mac hushed Bloo with a pat on the head, throwing his backpack where he usually put his shoes, on the shoe rack that had been recently installed in the corner of the entry.

He followed Bloo up the stairs, which usually became a race, but for some reason today – he just let Bloo ahead of him, too worn to participate in the one-sided competition. Soon after, he followed Bloo into the room he still shared today with Coco, Eduardo and Wilt. A few years ago, Wilt had gotten his own special bed, and just to pay him back for all he's done for Fosters, Mac and the gang had even raised enough money to buy him basketball themed sheets.

None of the friends he shared special bonds with were present, giving them the room to themselves.

On the floor, in a mess of gadgetry was a special contraption that Mac had ordered through the internet. Shaped like a watch, its purpose was to change the appearance of imaginary friends for whatever need the creator wished of it. However, if purchased as a whole it would have cost hundreds of dollars, so Mac had ordered the necessary parts of it and staring a week ago with Bloo, together they were going to construct it with a guide he had also found on the oh so useful internet.

Mac plopped down on one side of the gadget, and Bloo on the other. Bloo picked up a piece of paper that had been set next to it and peered at it a few moments, scratching his chin in thought.

"What's a led?"

"That's LED, Bloo"

"Oh… I knew that! That's just how the FRENCH pronounce it!"

"Right, sure… pass me the really small screw driver."

The two prattled on about their days, mostly Bloo did the talking. Mac hadn't had the chance to speak about his day, but the weight on his chest was starting to suffocate him and for 10 minutes he had sat there screwing in the same screw the wrong direction – it was only when Bloo corrected him did he start on another one.

"So buddy, what happened with you today? Stick it to Terrance?"

"… Nah… just…"

Mac stared intently at his work for a moment; his hands had begun to shake again. Calmly as possible, he set down the watch and sighed.

"Well, remember Richie Wildebrat?"

"Yeah, that no good hiccup stealer!"

"Right… hiccup stealer… anyways, he came to my school today… and he said something really weird…"

"What? Like Oogah Boogah?!"

Mac chuckled gently; the light hearted imaginary friend could always make him feel better, even without meaning to. Choking on his words got a bit more bearable with Bloo by his side.

"… He told me… he wanted to buy Fosters…"

The air grew quiet, and Mac's stammered sentence caused Bloo to stare as intensely as he had seen Bloo stare since he tried to solve that brain teaser last week. But this stare had something different about it… disbelief, he could describe it as.

"WHAT?!"

The Bloo blob screamed, grabbing Mac's head and shaking it like newly purchased chocolate milk. Mac pushed away from him, leaving Bloo to pace nervously, his eyes becoming bloodshot. Mac could almost hear Bloo's heart racing.

Then Bloo turned to him, and Mac knew instinctly what he was going to do.

"No Bloo!"

But before he could utter those words, he took off in the direction of Mr. Herriman's office, and blindly Mac's feet followed, creating a thundering noise on the wood of the hallways.

Mac, somewhere, knew it was hopeless to follow him because he couldn't move nearly fast enough when Bloo had a good 10 second start. Bloo had already reached Herrimen when he reached the top of the stairs – panting; all he could do was watch as Bloo told Mr. Herrimen everything he didn't need to know, at least… not quite yet.

The rabbit looked to Mac with eyes as wide as saucers, eyes that narrowed when he began to form an opinion on Mac's inability to tell him. He beckoned Mac down with his finger, instructing him to stand next to Bloo.

"Why wasn't I informed of this, Master Mac?"

"Because… because I think Richie was just teasing me…I mean… he can't actually buy Foster's… right?"

Mac laughed nervously, but Mr. Herriman's face did not alter from its original look of seriousness. He lifted his head up, puffing his jacket and shook his head to allow Mac to sigh with relief.

"No, Foster's is definitely _not_ for sale. Regardless, matters of such severity should be reported at once."

With that, Mr. Herriman seemed to not only ease his own worries, but Mac's and his friend's as well. Bloo looked to Mac and smiled, more of a smug look. Mac glared down at him.

"Bloo, why'd you do that?"

"I don't want to be a hobo, at least, not with the rest of Fosters! Do you know how uncool that would make hobo's? Mac, you really know nothing about it."

Bloo scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his back to him. Mac rolled his eyes, knowing his imaginary friend did care more about Foster's than he let on – but regardless, Mac never did enjoy getting in trouble, but at least he would be able to spend the rest of the day at Foster's without a worry.

--

Before Mac knew it, the clock struck 8 and he was to return home. He waved goodbye to Bloo, who promised to beat him up if he wasn't on time tomorrow and even stopped to give a hug to Frankie, whom - from what he could tell - seemed particularly irked by Herriman that evening.

When he opened the giant oak doors of Fosters, a rush of the cool night air blew his hair back and he was on his way back home to eat dinner and watch some TV, relaxation well earned.

However, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being followed halfway past the park he had rested in. He shrugged it off his paranoia, but it still bothered him. His paranoia was further more justified when he noticed at just the other end of the park was a limousine, quietly following him with his head lights off.

For a few minutes, he played it smooth, acted like he didn't notice, but when he noticed the turn in front of him, where the roads they both were on met into one street was coming up faster than he thought it would – he instantly took off running, pursued by the screech of tires closely behind.

The wind rushed past him, and his soccer-built legs pushed themselves to their limit as ran around the same block at least four times trying to evade the car. But energy ran out faster than gas, and his pace slowed. He tried his best to run, but his chest felt like it was going to his explode, and his trembling limbs were just too tired from the stress of the afternoon that he was forced to stop in his tracks and the limo quietly, indiscreetly, pulled up beside his panting body.

He wasn't surprised to see the person behind the heavily tinted windows.

"Mac, don't you want a ride home?"

Mac glared, breathless, he was unable to reply. Leaning his hands on his knees, he tried to shake off his exhaustion – but to no avail. After a few minutes, he forced himself to walk – the car only followed like he thought it would.

"Don't give me that, don't you remember our deal?"

"Leave me alone, Richie. I know you can't buy Foster's."

"I don't need to. I can adopt every one of your friends at Foster's. The bird thing… that orge…"

"Madam Foster would never let you."

"That's not the impression I got from her on the phone today."

Mac's eyes widened, unable to separate the truth and fiction from his explanation. Was it possible? Could he have contacted Madam Foster, asked permission and set up a date to pick them up? Could that be why he hadn't seen them all day? 

Mac wiped the sweat from his forehead, and allowed his body to stand erect, puffing out his chest to seem larger, stronger than he actually was.

"What do you want with me?"

"Your loyalty, that's all Mac. I could make your life a dream, or I could make your life a hell."

"I'm not just another car, Richie. I'm a person and I'm not for sale."

Mac saw Richie's face contort in frustration, Richie Wildebrat wasn't ever told no. What happened next, not even Mac could predict. Throwing an arm forward, Richie grabbed onto Mac's shirt and pulled his face near his own, he could feel his breath on his lips, smelling like whatever expensive dinner he had eaten that night. Mac felt his heart beat like it had hours ago, his skin just as uncomfortable as it had been. Richie seemed even more intimidating with clenched teeth then he did with just his size alone, looking like a crazed wild animal, true to his last name.

"Get in the car, or I swear I will adopt and abuse every friend in that god forsaken house!"

Richie snapped, animalistic and rude, not anywhere true to the classy snob he used to know. Mac, frightened, ran around the car and hopped in, finding himself in more of a pickle than he thought he would be in this day – of all days.


	3. Tepidly Anxious

Mac's heart raced like a thousand beating drums in his chest, slamming into his rib cage. Although he was over thinking the situation, as Mac often did, he was sure at that moment that Richie was going to kill him and drop his body off a bridge somewhere, where two weeks later his body would be found washed up on the shore and it would be up to a team of detectives to find his killer.

While all that sounded quite exciting on TV, he wasn't sure he wanted to live it, or rather, not live it.

Richie, on the other side of the spacious inside of the limo, quietly fixed his suit and fluffed his hair, fixing the quirks and wrinkles in his attire that arose from his violent, ground-shaking out burst which had Mac cowering in the farthest corner he could find.

Indeed, the trip on the way to mansion was quiet and tense, every moment passed like an hour for both boys. Counting down the minutes to their destination, both Richie and Mac seemed flustered in different ways. Richie with frustration and Mac was anxiousness.

However, against Mac's gruesome thoughts, he was not killed and thrown out of the car. Instead, he was ushered out by an extremely fancy looking gentleman along with Richie and was directed to the large oak doors of a mansion much larger than two Foster's put together. Mac wanted to stare in awe more, but as soon as he noticed Richie's quiet glare in his direction, he hurried his step into the massive structure – almost annoyed enough about being denied taking in the detail of his prison than actually by the imprisoning itself.

Once inside, he was treated to lavish furnishings with extravagant artwork, indeed nothing in the house looked even the slightest out of fashion, or even out of place. In its entirety, Mac began to think that maybe being the captive of a rich person wasn't such a bad experience, even if he hated the kid and his imaginary friend.

_Speak of the devil._

"Richie my boy!"

Blake Superior called in his deep, superhero-esque voice. The towering friend stomped forward, seemingly a bit less tall than he had at eight. Blake and Richie were almost identical in height, but Blake was made to be large and no matter how tall Richie grew, he would always be larger, stronger and more powerful.

They exchanged some sort of handshake, slapping each other's palms and then smacking fists. He had seen football players and frat boys do it, but never anyone his age. He dismissed it as something that people with status did, or overly masculine men. Richie only applied to one stereotype, but regardless, it seemed fitting.

"Blake Superior, look what I found on the street tonight? A little lost puppy named _Mac_"

Mac growled at his name, under his breath he muttered an insult which was almost inaudible even to himself. But Blake Superior's well, superior hearing picked it up with ease and slammed a strong hand upon his head, ruffling it with painful vigor.

"You know what we do with lost puppies, son?"

Mac pondered the question a bit, and looked over at Richie almost half expecting him to speak up in his defense. But his hopes were crushed of Richie ever being some what helpful, even if he really, really wanted him to. Mac sighed, feeling undignified and unwilling to comply.

"Is this some sort of dehumanization tactic?"

Mac sighed, pushing the tiger man's hand off his head and glaring angrily, with flustered red cheeks at the floor between his expensive shoes. Shoes that seemed insignificant compared to the fortune that Richie must have had in his pocket at this very moment. It made him sick. Damn rich bastards.

Blake Superior joined Richie in a snotty laugh, his, however, was a lot more tolerable than the nasally wetness of Richie's chuckle. Instead, Blake's was quiet large and came deep from within his chest. Filling the entire, insanely white entry hall with tremendous laughter.

When the laughter died down, Mac was left with little confidence to stand up for himself again. Though he felt justified, he still had a bad feeling about this place and was starting to get sick and tired of being toyed with.

Like he had mentioned before, he was no object and definitely not a play thing.

"I want to go home."

Mac huffed to himself, a call unanswered and completely ignored. He knew Blake Superior caught wind of it, but like the arrogant jerk he was he simply disregarded his demand for salvation.

"Blake Superior, have a servant phone our puppies parents of his whereabouts', will you? Make sure to make it sound good."

"My pleasure!'

Blake Superior saluted and took off into flight in some direction Mac didn't feel like paying attention to. The ceilings were so high and wide that the imaginary friend could fly easily and without hassle.

The only obstacles had to be the large, intricate chandeliers that decorated and lit the long corridor of the entry hall.

Mac had already decided how much he hated being here, and he was determined to keep it that way. Nothing would waver his opinion of how disgusting this made feel him, nothing except…

"Oh, and prepare some rocky road ice cream. Sugar free."

Mac's mouth began to water, his head perked to look up at Blake who only saluted this time from the other side of the corridor. This reminded Mac of how hungry he actually was – he hadn't eaten any lunch and he had been on his way to dinner when Richie so rudely pulled him from his daily tasks. His stomach grumbled in confirmation, hands flew to his stomach and clenched, blushing now out of embarrassment as opposed to rage.

Richie only smirked in his direction and continued up a long flight of stairs, beckoning Mac like some dog to follow him. Helpless, hungry and confused – Mac followed out of instinct up the wide, rich wooded steps and down a lengthy hall, where he would peer at expensive artwork in gold frames on the amazingly alabaster walls.

Amazed, yet disgusted with himself for being so.

Mac quickly found himself in Richie Wildebrat's corridors, where a bed with a lavish comforter was calling his name. He was still sore from running, his head pounded from stress and hunger, and a fever had taken over his face from how intensely he had been glaring at the floor. Sleep was a welcome release, and somehow, he had feeling it was a luxury he would not be given until later.

In his train of thought, he lost track of reality, wherein the door had been locked and the lights dimmed to a relaxing hue. The sinister smirk of his captor was apparent even through the confusion of his surroundings when he snapped back into present day Earth.

Mac, confused, watched as Richie began to unbutton his blazer and shed it, neatly folding it and setting it on a chair located in the far end of the room.

His room was larger than Mac's entire apartment, with a huge post bed made out of the finest red oak, the color 'Royal Blue' was a definite theme in this particular room as it decorated the sheets of the bed, the curtains, rug and even made itself apparent on strange, yet beautiful patterns on the walls. Gold adorned almost everything else, making it seem really like he was in the presence of royalty.

But of course, he wasn't. He was just being frightened by some bratty rich kid who wanted to embarrass and torture him.

Before Mac knew it, Richie was down to his rich black pants and nothing else. Mac instantly felt as middle class as he actually was, and grabbed at the collar of his shirt to allow the heat of his feverish body to escape more easily.

A gesture Richie quickly noticed, and chuckled briefly at.

"Hot?"

Mac nodded wordlessly, turning his eyes away from Richie, who seemed to be taunting him with the idea of air conditioning and sleep. Oblivious to what was happening, the ever naïve Mac only backed up when Richie made a move to get closer to his person, something he was definitely not comfortable with.

Richie only held up his hands in a surrendering gesture and smiled lazily, running his hands through his own hair to bring any lose strands into place with his beloved childhood hairstyle. He turned away from Mac, his pale, unblemished skin was like a sore thumb in the darker painted room, captivating and seemed like it well deserved attention from Mac's knowledge hungry eyes.

He watched as Richie turned to his large window and pressed a button, the window at his request began to rise, until it was fully open. Pulling back the curtains more fully, Richie leant out into the cool night, where from his second story window he could over look easily the entire town. While it was only the second story, it was higher up than Mac's apartment, probably do to the high ceilings that were on the first floor.

Words didn't need to be exchanged for Mac to understand Richie's kindness, for once showing through, although only subtly. Richie moved a hand up to direct Mac to the window, to which Mac quickly responded to. Rushing to the side, the large window was large enough for even three people to stand side to look out of.

Mac, true to his nature, huddled towards the completely opposite of Richie and poked his head out cautiously into the refreshing wind, blowing his sweat dry and aiding in his fight against his fever. Mac breathed deeply, closing his eyes and taking gracious lung full's of the sweet, relaxing air that he had been denied in both the car and his walk home.

For once today, Mac was allowed to relax.

Richie only smiled leaning on his elbows and staring out into the blinking town before him. This had to be one of his favorite views on the whole house, and he was glad he was allowed this room for his own. He remembered spending many nights as a young boy taking in the rich view, and his grandmother telling him that no matter how much money one has, that the breath taking view of the landscape was priceless and would remain so for the rest of eternity.

The beauty of his view was one thing that Richie did not think was disposable.

The other, was sitting next to him, enjoying the same pleasure as he was. Breathing the same air, and spending time with him. He was quite pleased to find that, for the moment, was not afraid of him and he didn't even have to use force to get him to enjoy his favorite part of the day.

Richie sighed to himself in bliss, retreating from the window to stretch his arms quietly.

When Mac didn't follow him, a cat-like smile crept across his lips.

You could attract more bees with honey, this was true. But the riddle didn't tell you could also attract them with promises which where lewd.

The statement being that boys would be boys, however dirty they may be.

Richie had been reading far too much poetry lately, and he was getting quite sick of thinking in rhymes. Instead, the ever bold Wildebrat reached foreword and caught Mac around the waist, nudging his head onto the surprise boy's shoulder with a sinister smirk.

"I guess its time to tell you what you're here for."

Richie hissed in a low, intoxicating whisper into Mac's ear.

**Authors Note: **

Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad I've captivated SOMEBODY with my work. I have to say, I get rather bored with a story unless I have some reviews going along with it. For some reason this story is a little different. Rarely do I actually make chapters, and is amazing that I'm actually following through with this.

I guess I've just wanted to write something like this for a while now that I just can't stop my creative spirit! --

**As you've noticed, this chapter is a bit more detailed then the others. I'd love to hear feedback on it as well. I'm also debating on whether to include some super mature content or not, so I'll need some feedback from the readers before I do anything THAT drastic.**

Go ahead and tell me if you want me to get a little more 'mature' with Richie and Mac or if you'd perfer if I kept it just suggestive and nothing else.


	4. The Beauty of the Beast

The air was sweet, and captivating was the city that laid itself out like an open book before him. Mac's mind read such poetry with ease, and interpreted each of its characters with great understanding, sympathizing and reminiscing in their pasts just as they did. The chocolate hues of his irises were completely set on the livelihood of such a masterpiece of art – the industrial revolution that was Angelsville, nestled just a few miles from Townsville, and even more so from Citysville. Suburbia was just so close from this part of the house that he could almost taste the freedom of it.

His attention was soon grabbed from the beauty by a strong hand, which raveled itself around his waist and pulled him from the sill into a warm entity. Again, he found himself blushing like he had every other time this happened, and letting his mind wander far into the possibilities of why the person was holding him like this. Back to chest, with tepid breath filling the shell of his ringing left ear – a motion that sent unfamiliar chills down his spine, causing him to sigh his anxious breath from stressing lungs.

He could feel the other person's heart beat on his chest, reminding him that it was no monster – but a human being, that was holding him in such an embrace. Not even his own mother, not even Bloo, could invoke the strange and unusual feeling he was having.

_I guess its time to tell you what you're here for._

What did that mean? What was he here for? This strange hug, this unorthodox feeling, it was all leading up to this point, the question that Mac's mind begged to be answered as laid out before him and yet, he was terrified of its answer.

"Mac, are you a virgin?"

Mac's heart could have skipped a beat and eyes flew open wider than he was sure they ever had before. His face's feverish red seemed to enflame down his neck like some sort of rash, and his body instantly became hot and uncomfortable.

He wanted to truly cry.

Mac pulled instantly from Richie's grip and stumbled towards the window backwards, grabbing its pane with shaking hands, his trembling body hardly able to support itself. This terror wasn't like any he had ever felt before, and some how, he lost all his ability to rationalize what was happening.

To rationalize that he had a choice in the matter.

Instead, he only felt like a caged animal, frantic and confused that had been locked up and experimented with. This wasn't right at all – he knew there was something that didn't feel right, that Richie couldn't have possibly meant just teasing when he told him he 'wanted' him.

How could have been so foolish?!

Richie's expression was surprise, shocked at first that Mac would act in such a way, but he soon realized how scary a question like that could be to such a fragile person such as Mac. Richie was all to familiar with that feeling, and could pin-point it much easier than even a pink elephant.

And for once, Richie felt _guilty_ for saying what he had said.

"…Mac, I-..."

He went to reach forward with a comforting hand, but Mac only stumbled closer to the window, his chest rising and falling frantically, and his body shaking so visibly he was sure he was having some sort of convulsion, and worry crept over the Wildebrat's body instantly.

He didn't want to hurt Mac, not even in the slightest. It wasn't his intention, but what if he did hurt him? Or even kill him? Mac was right. He wasn't just another car.

He couldn't just buy a new Mac.

"Stay back! Please!"

Mac half sobbed, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, tears that he fought back with all his power and the rest of his energy. Mac's hands flew to his chest, to grip tightly to the cloth there for some sort of comfort, trying his damndest to catch his breath, even in the slightest. To make the feeling of tightness disappear from his heart.

"Please…"

He couldn't hold it in anymore, tears poured from his eyes, making his cheeks raw and hot. He let his hands fly to his face to cover his shame. Who knew he could feel so weak and helpless? So scared and confused? He hated being in this place again. It was the same place he had been when his brother told him that his dad left because of him, and that his mother wanted to abort him to save their marriage. Of course, all of those things were lies, he had soon found out. But the place he had been, the place of complete and utter belief was shocking and hard to deal with.

He had started to hate his brother even more from that day on. It just seemed like a valid reason to hate Richie just as much.

"I'm… I'm truly… sorry…"

Richie uttered, almost alien to his lips to spew, like vomit it wretched his stomach and caused him great discomfort that he thought he would never feel. Richie, shamed by how frightened he had made his guest, turned quietly from the window and rushed out of the room, leaving Mac in the dim lighting of the royal quarters that he slept in every night. Scared right out of his own bedroom, where he was supposed to feel the safest.

Instead of rushing down the hall, Richie felt it was his duty to at least stay within the vicinity. He let his back lean against the wood of his down, the cold causing a shockwave to move through his body and remind him of the stinging loneliness he was feeling, the guilt for coming on so strong.

He slid down until his bottom met the expensive carpet, his head in his hands as he quietly took in the situation, and waited patiently for his 'captive' to recover from his advances.

Taking time from his malicious perverted intent to forgive himself for such ungentlemanly like attitude.

Then Mac was left there, and as soon as it started, it was finished. He was alone, trapped in this romantic setting where he had been an inch away of becoming some sort of sex toy for a rich little pervert.

Was Richie going to force him? No. He knew better. But regardless, the thought of his own deflowering was stressful for a boy of 17, no matter how well equipped he was to deal with other stressful matters, nothing could compare to the fright of losing himself to Richie Wildebrat's of all people, blackmailed into being used as one of his concubines.

Once his body settled, his eyes blindly searched for some means of communication to the outside world. God must have loved him, because right there next to the bed was an expensive looking phone, sitting quietly on its charger.

Without hesitation, his body flew forward onto the nicely made bed and snatched the phone from its pedestal, and dialed almost mindlessly.

"…Hello?"

_Frankie._

Mac's face lit up, the corners of his mouth shot up into a smile – but his happiness was short lived. What was he going to tell his closest friends? That Richie Wildebrat just came on to him? That he was prisoner in an estate with access to anything he wanted except freedom? Who would believe him?

"…F-Frankie… I-it's Mac."

"Oh Mac! How are you doing? Did you forget something here? Cause if you did-"

"No! No… Please… just… let me talk to Bloo."

Mac stammered anxiously into to the phone, his hands shaking as he did so. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell Bloo, but he had to speak to him. Just hearing his voice, he knew he would calm down considerably. Bloo, out of everyone, knew him the best and he could only think of how disappointed the little guy would be hearing him sob about how traumatized his was.

He instantly regretted calling anyone. But it was too late by the time he was going to hang up.

With his hand outstretched towards the charger – a tiny, tired sounding voice slithered out of the contraption he held between his trembling fingers.

"Mac? Buddy?"

Mac couldn't contain himself any longer, and he gripped the phone with a new vigor and brought it to his ear. Determined to spill his guts, and get every scary thing he had experienced in this hellish day off his chest, and out of reality. Bloo would probably laugh it off as nonsense; he wouldn't even know what help he gave him – what hope.

"Bloo… I'm…I'm..."

"Whoa, Mac. You sound terrible! Are you sick?"

"…Yes."

Was all he could think to have said.

"I… I… Richie… he…"

"Richie? That… rich kid? What about him?"

"He's got me! Oh god, Bloo… I can't take this anymore."

On the other end, he could just hear Bloo's breath pick up, the panic setting in. He couldn't lie to him, not for his life. This was serious, he had to get out of this mansion and he had to do it right then, right now.

"What?! Got you? Did he hurt you?! Mac!"

"No…! He… oh Bloo, I think he wants to-"

The phone went dead, and Mac's head whipped to the doorway, where in a blindly light, Richie stood with phone cable in hand. His eyes seemed sad, laced with disappointment that Mac had gone to Bloo instead of him for comfort. Richie let the phone cord drop and quietly closed the door behind him.

Mac watched as casually, Richie walked to the window and pressed a button to have it closed. He stared angrily at Mac, who dropped the phone in terror and shuffled against the headboard like a cornered rabbit.

"Mac, why?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Mac cried to Richie's indifferent, sadistic sounding voice. At least, as interpreted by him. In reality, It was more of pure disappointment, of jealously that he sounded so upset with him. Richie plopped down in the middle of the bed, next to a fetal-position-assumed Mac. He let his legs dangle off the side, and looked quietly to Mac with eyes that seemed to filled with sadness that Mac couldn't believe it.

Richie, he was human, not a monster.

Mac felt guilty for treating him so, but still felt resentment that he had cut off his conversation. In any case, Mac was naturally sympathetic, even to his enemies. Reaching forward, Mac put a comforting shoulder on Richie and tried to smile honestly as best he could, but it only looked awkward and forced.

"…Richie I-…I don't think… I can do what you want me to do…"

Richie bunched his hands in his laps in frustration, biting his lip to keep his tongue in line. His brow wrinkled, as if in deep concentration. He turned to Mac somewhat angry, rage boiling and building in his body.

Richie hated being told No. He couldn't stand it.

"Mac, I don't understand it – I don't! But I want you for myself! I don't know why, okay? But… but it's been torturing me ever since middle school! Please. Let me be your first!"

Richie's hands gripped Mac's shoulders, shaking him gently. He looked into Mac's frightened eyes with his own anxious ones. It was the moment of truth, and some how, he just knew Mac wasn't going to comply with him if he didn't have a motive to. Mac would never see him the way he did, and although saddening, Richie was in such a state of loneliness that he didn't care anymore.

"You were the first to beat me! The very first! Please. You're the only one who's… whose let me taste REAL competition!"

Richie begged, holding Mac's trembling, stressed and worn out body to him. Closer and closer to his face, although Mac did not respond, Richie could see in his eyes the confusion of the entire situation. Confusion he too shared. However, he had been planning months in advance, and he couldn't let it be ruined.

He had to have Mac; it was for certain, that in his life time, he had to taste the defeat that had shattered his reputation. Instead of resentment for Mac's win, he held not only respect but hunger for what made him so brilliant. To him, Mac was the only person who was worthy of his caress. No one else would do.

Richie drew Mac's lips to his own, and seized them with a strong and colorful kiss that had Mac's eyes dilate and see stars. Richie had successfully confused, yet seduced the naïve young man into his power. Although Mac did not kiss back, and to Richie's knowledge, was inexperienced with things of his matter – he did not care, just having him tightly in his arms, tasting those beautiful lips was enough for him.

But within men there are animals born of instinct, and before he knew it, the blonde was pinning Mac to the bed by the very shoulders he had been shaking him by, and had his leg swung over Mac's waist, leaning over him like a tiger. He panted just as heavily as Mac did, and shared the same hue of red on his pale skin and yet, as an ivory colored hand reached up to caress Mac's sun-kissed cheek, he didn't feel Mac jerk or even pull away.

Could it be that he was complying?

The truth was that Mac himself didn't have a clue; he simply followed in amazement at Richie's words, and wished to grasp them for himself. To understand Richie's fascination with him. He was captivated, just as the characters in his books captivated him, with Richie's unique way of thinking – and for this reason, allowed him to continue, bewildered and dumbfounded by his confession.

Richie's hand moved down from Mac's face to the boy's chest, and tugged mindlessly on the fabric, expecting it to fall off at his command. He was afraid to pull it off Mac, fearing the boy would jerk at such a sudden movement. Instead, he moved down to the hem of both shirts and slithered his hand up to the boy's chest, where curious fingers wandered and explored beneath the cotton.

Mac huffed at the cold hand against his feverishly hot body, moving across every sensitive point he thought no one would ever discover, and some he didn't even knew he had himself. He felt the need, the strange need, for more touches – pleasure he never really paid attention to, but that his friends had always explain to him. It was no longer gross, but something he thought was quite beautiful. Just like in his books.

He felt himself relax, his eyes close and take in those touches the best he could. He convinced himself it was just curiosity, that he wouldn't let Richie touch him any further than what he wanted him to. That he had control. In reality, he wasn't sure if he did – but more than ever did he believe that Richie would stop if he honestly wanted him to. That security just allowed him to surrender even more.

Was it love?

Neither Mac, nor Richie was quite sure if it was something so strong. They were both to young to understand it, but then again, they were both too young to understand what emotions they were experiencing as well – but regardless, they experienced them. It was coming of age that they both had run from for different reasons, and although taboo, it just seemed to feel righter than rain at the moment.

Richie's hand slipped from Mac's shirt to wander down towards his pants, where he gripped the zipper with shaky, sweaty fingers and casually held it there – looking to Mac's eyes for confirmation.

It was all going so fast, and before Richie knew it, he was tongue deep back into Mac's mouth, salvaging every rich of his teeth and creating delightful tingling sensation all along his taste buds, and up and down his back. Mac, although trembling, seemed to open his mouth and allow him – he didn't push or try to bite his tongue like he thought he would. In fact, it was going over much smoothly than he thought it would.

Mac wasn't sure what he was doing, and more and more he was starting to believe that both of them were sort of winging the whole experience and following gut feeling. Pleasing each other childishly without much knowledge of what they were getting themselves into.

Richie, in mid kiss, finally gained the courage to pull down Mac's zipper and push his hands into the hems of his pants to feel the cottony soft boxers underneath. He felt the rising bump in Mac's pants and couldn't help to feel embarrassed that he single-handly caused it – but at the same time completely proud. Richie smiled through the kiss and pulled away, to leave Mac writhing in pleasure as his skillful hand massaged his sensitivity.

The experience was far from crude, as Mac had assumed it would be.

Everything was smooth, and delectable, better than any ice cream he had in his entire life. He couldn't help but groan as Richie hit all the right places, but couldn't help but wonder how he knew what just to hit. It made him think of the possibility that Richie had done this before, which, was entirely possible.

Of course, Richie was well… rich, and he wouldn't just go doing this with anyone. Mac felt truly special, even more special than Bloo had made him feel with all his worried ranting he was always bombarded with when he was late to Fosters.

Mac watched dazed and loving life as Richie crawled down his body, pushing up his shirt to kiss and worship his stomach, using a warm tongue to tease his naval. He held back a chuckle as he traced his hips with his fingers, holding them tightly to the bed below. Then, his head vanished between his legs.

Drawing his manhood into his mouth, he began to suck quietly, with the skill and precision that he was sure that had been practiced before. The truth was that Richie had been preparing this entire moment, even stooping as far as to 'practice' with inanimate objects, even taking the time to read books on technique.

He had a lot of time on his hands; anyone did when they were obsessive stalkers.

Mac's initial reaction was shock, as he sat up to stare at Richie, who seemed unfazed by having something so lewd in his mouth. He sucked indifferently, drowning his entire being in fiery heat. Mac stifled a low moan, the heat and the wetness of the cavity around him was a feeling he didn't want to give up, and wished it would go on forever. He almost forgot what he was doing was completely wrong for a boy his age, for a boy at all in that point.

He bucked his hips blindly, watching as Richie took it in the stride and only adjusted himself to Mac's specifications. Then suddenly, Richie drew back, foreseeing something that Mac himself hadn't. With a strange, almost embarrassing noise, white liquid spilt from his body and was quickly caught in the expensive looking hanker chief of the young man laying in between his legs.

Richie only smiled up at him, shrugging. He had expected as much, a virgin was a virgin after all – even if that virgin was Mac.

_SLAM!_

Both parties, startled, looked to the door, where a shadowy figure stood valiant, where light casting a long shadow into the room seemed almost menacing.

**Authors Note:**

**gasp Suspense! I like to end my chapters with suspense, something that makes you really think about it and want to find out what's next.**

**I hope the mature content I added wasn't too graphic. I tried to be as vague and 'poetic' as possible when I wrote it, but I still wanted it to be beautiful since I was trying to convey that Richie really does care about Mac more than just a play thing - you know?**

**Reviews are so welcome. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I put a lot of work into making it sound pretteh:D**


	5. Jealous Alternative

The figure stepped forward, the light casting his shadow stretched over the bed and ended against the opposite wall, casting a small portion of the room in relative darkness with the door opened. The two on the bed stared anxiously at this new comer, coming to their senses they realized quickly what taboo they were committing and with a quiet glance at one another, they both decided that they had made a mistake – no words needed to be spoken for this split second confirmation.

Mac was expecting anyone except who he saw, which to him, was merely a stranger. At first glance, he was sure it was some sort of maid or butler – even a younger sibling that Richie hadn't told him about, but none of his assumptions seemed to match the horrid truth, which was much more shocking, and a great deal less dignifying than any random servant or estate occupant.

The person in front of the two half naked young men was none other than an imaginary friend. His eyes were a steel grey, glaring hatefully upon the scene, matching a carefully placed accessory on his wrist – a watch, no less. His skin was a light blue, his hair almost identical in style to Mac's was only a darker shade of the same blue that coated his entire body and he was clothed in simple street clothes, proving he was no one important unless you looked closely. A white t-shirt and some baggy jeans. Peculiar, that he had exactly the same shoes as Mac wore.

It hit Mac first, like a bullet from the… _Bloo._

Mac instantly scrambled away, take care in noticing this realization and the violent opening of the door only happened within a minute, although it seemed much slower than that with how agonizing the discovery, the pure embarrassment of being caught in the act was.

The 17 year old junior instantly felt sick and dirty, and he wasn't sure what had come over him to allow Richie to touch him like that. He was too curious for his own good, and now, he had walked himself right into a mess that he would have to question his own sexuality to explain.

He was in a pickle indeed.

Even more so when his own imaginary friend rushed forward to wrestle a confused and blushing Richie to the floor, where he attempted to punch him blindly, more power within his fists than he had when he was only 4 feet tall, as opposed to his new 5 foot stature that matched Mac's.

"What are you doing to my pal?!"

Screamed the blue boy in angry, his teeth clenched characteristically as they always did when he was frustrated to the extreme. His voice didn't change either, and it was almost unfitting for the body it was in. So unnatural to hear the voice from a person than it was a tiny blue blob, like he had for his entire life.

Then raised the question to Mac's head how he assumed the form he was in, and he quickly realized that he had finished making the watch without him, most likely with help from other house mates. He couldn't help being disappointed that he wasn't there to see it in action in the first place, but at the same time, was to wound up in pulling up his pants and trying to gather his anxious thoughts together to form some sort of coherent sentence.

Mac was definitely not proud of himself, or his prior and prolonged stupidity.

Richie only blindly blocked his face, but no less, Bloo still managed to get in a few punches before Mac used his wobbly arms to yank him off, holding him from under his arm pits in a sort of lock and pulling him away from Richie, who lay dazed and ashamed on the floor. He stared to Mac briefly, then to the seething blue creature who had thrown himself on top of him – trying to find some trace of whom he was or why he was even in his house. The pure distaste of being caught was enough, but by some blue monster?

"Bloo stop!"

"No! What was he doing?! I'll-I'll beat em' to a pulp for ya buddy, you just say the word!"

Mac released Bloo, holding fast to his arm and in place. Bloo twisted out of his grip and sat seething in front of Mac, thinking it his duty to protect him from that no-good criminal that made it his priority to mess with his creator – something that was just unforgivable.

Richie panted, anxiously grabbing at his white button up shirt, missing it quite a few times as his eyes were glued to the blue invader, expecting that at any time he would attack him again. Once he grabbed it, he shrugged it over his shoulders and slipped his arms through the sleeves, pulling it together with his hands and nervously, blindly trying to fix the buttons through their holes.

Bloo only growled in reply to his casual act, stepping forward, and causing Richie to step a few feet back just in reaction.

"You better start talkin', bub! What're you doing to my buddy here?!"

Bloo threatened with a clenched fist, intensifying his angry glare in the blonde's direction, his teeth still clenched and grinded in pure malice for ever seeing him lay a violent hand on his creator, at least, from his eyes.  
_  
Nothing could shake Mac like that._ Bloo thought to himself, moving forward a few more steps, successfully cornering Richie against his closed window, feeling no remorse for causing the distressed look upon his face. _He must have been up to something terrible._

"I was… I- I wasn't hurting him!"

"Its true, Bloo! He wasn't!"

Mac vouched for Richie's terrified plea, causing a bewildered and angry Bloo to turn on his heel, lower his fist and stomp towards Mac all in one long string of movements. Bloo, although just as tall as him, and no more muscular than him, was intimidating for some reason – it must have been how completely full of rage his stare was, how his fists shook with pure wrath for anyone willing to defy him.

Bloo began to stomp towards Mac, causing him to back up – where Mac would look behind him to check if he was going to run into anything. Before the trembling boy could hit the wall, Bloo reached out his fist and grabbed the front of Mac's shirt, pulling him to his face, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, most importantly, eye to eye.

"Then what, Mac?! Are you telling me you were totally okay with what this sicko was doing to you? Answer me!"

Mac could only stare with large, chocolate eyes into his imaginary friend's steel colored irises, his chest beginning to fall and rise with alarming speed. He grabbed at Bloo's wrist and pulled at it, however, it did not even budge. He could feel Bloo's shaking body, and when he looked deeper into his smoke-hued eyes, he could see intense worry for his well-being, and instantly felt bad for not explaining sooner.

How bad exactly did he sound on the phone?

Mac reached out his arms and raveled them around Bloo's shoulders, pulling him into a hug, to which Bloo quickly unclenched his fist to throw strong, shaking hands around his best friend, holding as tightly as he could – and believe it or not, sobbing gently into the brunette's shoulder.

"I was so worried! You said you were sick, I was sure you were going to be dead by the time I got here! Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

Bloo scolded through his clenched teeth, sobbing his high pitched cry as he always did. His appearance may have changed, but he was still the same caring Bloo, even if he acted mischievous and indifferent.

Mac smiled warmly, for once tonight, and patted his friend's back supportively. His arms around him was something extremely soothing, and he could say truthfully that he would have preferred it be Bloo catch him in the first place – he could trust him better than anyone he knew, after all.

Then there was the matter of Richie, who sat and watched the scene from his place at the window, working quietly on the buttons that had been ailing him this entire him. Once done, he stepped forward, a sort of sympathetic look upon his face and shoved his hands in his pockets.

What was he supposed to say in this situation? How could he console Mac for what he had done, so carelessly, without thinking about the consequences? His feelings for Mac didn't change, but his perspective on how he was approaching his crush did.

His imaginary friend, he could tell already, would not accept their relationship. He could tell, he would have to use other methods to lure Mac into his grasp once again, because for sure the boy would be too frightened to ever return to him of his own accord. Jealously spun out of control as he thought, and no matter how much he wished to nurture Mac's pain in that moment – the selfish would always be selfish, and he was unable to concentrate on anything else than formulating a new plan.

Mac saw it in his eyes, and frowned instantly, holding the crying friend to him again, this time with a bit of urgency. Richie was not done with this game yet – not by a long shot.

Just for a moment, that sinister, cat-like smile crept across the Wildebrat's youngest, and only son's features and his eyes glazed over with something just as wretched and self-absorbed as before. He quietly walked to the door, pausing to open it and seemingly ignoring the heart wrenching scene that he had passed without even a second glance. He left the door wide open to the long corridors of his home for the duo to step out of when they felt ready, the one last courtesy he would do for make in a long while.

_I have no time to waste._ Richie stated in his twisted mind, walking swiftly down the well-lit, white-washed hallway. _That blue thing has to be out of the picture, and I know just the method._

Richie momentarily stopped right in his tracks, a good distance away from the open door of his room. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved a soaking handkerchief, smiling devilishly at the sight.

_Blackmail. _

**Author's Note:**

Whoo! Updating quickly lately. This is a relatively short chapter, but again, I don't like to write chapters that are too long - its better to capture attention momentarily so you all don't get bored.. and so I don't get bored writing it. Plus, it needs to end at crucial plot points to increase suspense!

** Lets see, I'll answer some comments while I'm at it.**

_Jessica Todero:_ I'm not sure if I'll have any Mac and Bloo in this story - but its a definite possiblity. I have read most of the Mac x Bloo stories, and most of them are kinda crap. The best foster's fic's I've read were about Mac not being in any kind of a relationship, unless you count like, ended relationship's he's had before. I guess, there only one or two fic's that I liked that had the Mac x Bloo pairing, so I might nurutre it a bit. Rest assured though, Jessica, it will MAINLY focus on the relationship between Richie and Mac -- 

**_Jonthan:_ Thanks! You know, you don't get a lot of stories nowadays that involve a main character making a decision that isn't obviously predictable. For example, Lord of the Rings. Frodo had to make a choice about whether to guard the ring or not - but I think we all knew what he was going to choose. This story, my story, is a bit more complex. There will be pro's and con's to each of Mac's choices, and he will address them accordingly. I'm making Mac as human as possible, and part of being human is making mindless decisions that may not be the best choice in the long run, such as in this chapter.**

Thanks for all your comments guys, I tried to use a bit of symbolism in this chapter, and a bit of a twist - since I'm sure all of you kinda got comfortable with Richie being a 'good guy' for a few minutes - and he was... for a few minutes. :P


	6. The Looking Glass

_ Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock_

The quiet sound of the clock filled the small, orange themed room – its crazy furniture's, its eccentric decorations were the well-known characteristics of a woman in the peak of the senility of old age, on the crest of a glorious youthfulness that had one time been lost. The rebirth of spontaneity was in the very heart of the eldest occupant, and owner of the house – one would not think to look in the past for new idea's, but alas they had found their resting place in the beating, very alive being that was Madam Foster.

In her favorite sitting room, a young boy sat with a blanket draped around his shivering shoulders – his hair seemed more disheveled then normal, and his face was pale with what seemed like pure shock and disappointment, his eyes were gloomy and dazed – yet unnaturally alert to some paranoia that nagged at him. He hugged the comforting warmth around him, sitting with his back hunched forward – rocking, as if he had gone into some strange craziness.

Next to him, on the old scratchy auburn love seat, was his imaginary friend – who patted gently the back of his creator. His boyish frame was still apparent, via the watch upon his wrist. A concern look decorated the unusual look of discontentment on the humanoid's face, curled towards his friend to provide some support to the lost youth.

"It's okay Mac, it's over now…. Please talk to me, buddy."

Mac jerked away from Bloo's comforting touch, coldly turning from his assistance in this time of high strung throbbing of his mind. The boy only retreated, instead of his customary nagging – scooting gently to the side of his recluse originator and placing his hands in his lap, tugging on the overly large jeans that he had so carelessly thrown on at the last moment, jeans that Coco had laid for him a size too big.

What could be said for the inner-workings for Mac's mind was far and few, seeing as the very thoughts that ran through his head quickly diluted into the worried anxiousness of his predicament, how stupid he had been to let it happen and what he could have done to protect himself if he had been thinking straight. He tried his very hardest not to blame Richie, but found placing the fault on himself was to overwhelming.

_It was easier to hate then to love, after all._

Richie was easiest of all to dislike, with all his bad reputation and especially how he had kidnapped him among other things. The usual, practical Mac could not stop himself from forming ill-conceived and generally untrue opinions about the rich blonde just out of spite for his own idiotic consent.

In his own way, Mac hated everyone around him at this point. He hated Bloo for seeing his most vulnerable state, he hated Frankie for driving him there, he hated Mr.Herriman for calling his brother and telling him he would be spending the night at Fosters, and he hated most of all Richie for walking out of that room, leaving him to deal with the explanation for his behavior – which he had yet to do.

Bloo had taken him to that room, patiently allowing him to get comfortable by starting a fire and giving him an exceptional warm blanket, things that Mac could not muster the courage to thank him for. Valiantly, the newly transformed blob stayed close and waited with all the patience of a priest for him to stutter the words he was waiting to hear – the words that would clear any misconceptions about his creator ever surrendering his body to anyone his friend didn't approve of, especially a man.

Thankfully, Bloo would always be thick-headed and naïve – but there were some things that could not be avoided. The media made monsters out of us all at one point or another, and Bloo was no exception.

"Bloo… about what you saw…"

Bloo did not respond, oddly enough – Mac expected at least a shift in his movement, but could feel none. Not even a confirmation of his listening. Curiously, Mac lifted his lowered head to peer next to him to quickly check of a presence – only to find his imaginary friend serenely asleep in his place. His head hung downwards and his eyes were closed, his fingers laced together – possibly for warmth.

Mac only smiled in relief, letting out a gentle sigh, allowing heavy air suppressing his heart to be let off his chest. He finally, the first time in at least an hour, stood up. He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders, and onto his imaginary friends. He leant down on one knee to the blue humanoid and unclasped the steel contraption from his wrist, and with a quick pop and sputter – he twisted back into his original form, a process so fast that the friend did not even stir when it was being completed.

A parental impulse had come over him, and he felt truly gifted to be allowed to keep his silence for the moment. In the few moments he rolled his creation in the blanket he had been using and carried him to his room, he had not one thought about the traumatic events that had gone on that night.

He tucked the friend in and quietly walked from the room. Pausing in the doorway, he flipped off the lights and peered over his shoulder to the sleeping imagination. He debated within himself for a few moments about whether to move or not, but ultimately, his nurturing conscience nagged at him one to many times and he was forced by his own feet to swiftly walk to a small toy chest in the middle of the room, one of which was full of Coco's 'prizes' that the friends had decided to keep. He plucked out a small, pink, rubber elephant from the lot – the one that had the squeaker removed – and placed it snugly beside his creation, finally being at ease in leaving the room.

When he exited, he was instantly confronted with something he wished he wasn't – and that was Frankie Foster.

In her arms, she carried a large laundry basket full to the brim with dirty garments. Like most chance meetings go, the two paused to size each other up and decide if it was truly who they thought each other to be before making another move, then the sinking into awkwardness when one or the other did not have the confidence to speak.

They stared into other's eyes with quiet concentration, as if they could peer into their very thoughts by doing so. However, the attempt was unsuccessful and both were left feeling differently about each situation – in a silent agreement, they both turned away from conversation and carried on opposite directions of the long hallway.

It was Frankie, about a few feet down the hall who stopped to stare over at the troubled youngster that she had known to be so logical over the years – how incredibly unstable he had looked, and how completely aware of the fact he was unstable. It was upsetting to see him unable to help himself and refusing to come to one of them for help as he always did.

She could already tell this was something serious, but was secure in allowing it to take its course before she poked her nose in it – after all, there were plenty of mysteries surrounding the boy who came back.

In unison, it seemed, they both sighed away their troubles and continued about their individual tasks. This included carrying on with the laundry, and for Mac – to find his favorite resting spot in the entire house, the infamous Mirror Hollow.

The boy dragged a large armchair to the middle of the room, which was actually more of a large pocket in a narrow hallway. It was one of the roads less traveled in the house, as it was on the top floor; just above it was the roof. A giant window, with perfectly clear shards of glass placed intricately in the pattern of a tiger lily. It had spots of light, pastel yellow – each leaf was outlined in a rich gold.

It was so large it took up the entire east wall of the room – the room had been made almost as a separate part of the house, both of its sides were completely empty for at least a yard, the absence of rooms on both east and west were so the sun could shine brilliantly from rise to fall. Its bottom was supposed by rooms underneath, and its north and south sides were connected to a long corridor on either side - casting a skinny shadow upon the gold soaked rug. The rug was equally a masterpiece, a royal, rich red with a floral print of any flower you could think of, instead of fully colored they were only pieced together with the color gold, only brought out more by the beautiful light that glittered through the entire corridor, casting almost a fairy-tale like glory throughout the nook.

In the middle of this magnificence was a specially crafted chair, a brass colored recliner with spots of wheat hue splashed across it. It was by far the most comfortable chair Mac had ever sat in, its polyester surface was all to kind on the boy's skin.

He sat, in the dark of night where there was no light by the moon, whose brilliance still seemed to illuminate what would be a completely pitch-black haunt if not for the giant window that allowed any the tiniest spec of light from the outside to filter through its windows and reflect along every wall.

He stared with deadness until the morning came, his eyes weighted with the need for sleep but with an unneeded resistance, he conquered it to view the sunrise in its utmost perfection. In the east, it rose with splendor – it seemed all his painful efforts to be normal were a disgusting disgrace to the awesome of the rise of the sun. Mac, in himself, felt extremely small – and such a time allowed him to think over his life as less serious than he had at the time of the 'incident' at the Wildebrat's mansion.

The innocence of thought was not long lived, as his caramel colored eyes wandered lazily out the window and to the sidewalk that led up to the house. A new presence walked its long path, but not one that was directly familiar to him until he stared for a few minutes. It became apparent immediately then – from the presence of the limo that sat dormant on the curb that he had exited out of, to his crazy blonde hair and his overly dressed frame.

His eyes shot open and he scrambled from his comfortable place of the chair and with inhuman speed, darted down to the entry hall – where he was met with a smiling Richie Wildebrat.

Mac wanted to scream, and cry and laugh all at once. The boy looked like he had a good night's sleep, not only that, he seemed overly confident standing next to Mr.Herriman, who was handing him some sort of paper that he could not catch a glance of before it disappeared inside the rich teen's pocket.

"Master Mac, what's the meaning of your appearance?! Those are the same clothes you arrived in last night… What terrible manners for an honored guest!"

The rabbit scolded, referring to the overall uncleanness of Mac's appearance. His face was sweaty, his chest rose and fell with a surprising speed and his clothes were of course those he had worn since the morning of yesterday. These unhygienic tendencies were not usually his; he could not help but ignore them for the moment – standing there panting and dirty in front of the human he hated most on the planet at the moment.

"W-why…"

Mac paused to swiftly draw in air, catching his breath. He fixed his hair and straightened out the wrinkles in his shirt, wiping his forehead free of sweat.

"Why are is _he_ here?"

"Mr. Wildebrat is here to donate a great sum of money to the house – originally, Miss Goo was going to lead him on the tour, but… as long as you're here, would you mind guiding him?"

Richie could only smile with a malicious intent, hands casually in his pockets and his disgustingly blue eyes blazing into the core of his very soul. He beamed with confidence and accomplishment that Mac had no reason to trust, giving the middle-class child an initiative to hate him even more.

"…Yeah… Sure."

They locked eyes only for a few moments, shooting daggers at each other's heads as gentlemen with their own sort of intensive stare.

_It was a declaration of war._

**Authors Note:**

**Hey peeps! This update is a bit long winded and boring, and I apologize for that. I was trying to work out some bugs in Mac's personality as well as just display his overall thoughts on his situation. I wanted to show how he was coping with it and how the people around him were worried about him.**

Mac is usually a stable person, in the show he is the 'smart' kid and he usually thinks things through a little more than anyone else. Part of the point of this chapter is to show his quiet descent into insanity, because he is slowly learning he cannot always make the right decisions and feels compelled to just push everyone out of his life to get himself together.

**Of course this chapter also deals with the relationship between him and Bloo, and how really unnaive Bloo is to the situation. Really, Bloo know's what's going on but he's afraid of the truth. It also shows how content Mac is with Bloo's presence, and how really that Bloo just seems to stablize him as a whole... you know, Mac really can't live without Bloo.**

**There's alot of sentimentality, as well as symbols in this chapter. 'Mirrors Hollow' was symbol of Mac's inablity to grasp his life at the moment, since it all seems to be slipping through his fingers. Its like he's looking through a window the entire time, and feels comfort from feeling like its not reality. His life is very symbolic of someone who shuts themselves up and watchs life from afar instead of participating - I think that describes Mac's pysche right now, since he's trying to detach himself but is very aware of his situation.**

**I tried to be as realistic as possible, like the confrontation in the hallway between Frankie and Mac. I see alot of authors making Frankie just a bit to nosey and I wanted to show that she really DOES have self control and reasoning when it comes to matters like this - she knows better than to shove her head in buisness that's not her own. Both of them almost seem to agree to leave eachother alone for the moment. **

**In later chapters, I'll explain some more parts of Mac's life that are falling apart - Richie's just the straw that broke the camel's back. Initally, this chapter was going to be devoted to Mac reflecting about the things in his life that are wrong that he had been ignoring up until then - but I decided I'd give Mac time to just rest and think about what his next move is going to be.**

**I hope this chapter isn't boring for you - I had a lot of fun writing it. See you next time :P**


	7. False Sense of Competence

"This is the staircase… famously, also a trap door from a pulley system underneath our feet and…"

Mac prattled on almost mindlessly about the history of the house, checking over his shoulder at Richie whose sickly smug smile never left his lips. If he could have picked a time to kill someone in his life, it would be here and now. Mac sneered, shoving out the last word of his sentence, which even he wasn't paying attention to. He rounded the corner, walking quietly forward and out of ear shot of Mr. Herriman, whom he assumed wouldn't believe his crazy story even if he told him.

Anyone rich and donating, at least to Mr. Herriman, had creditability that surpassed his own.

Finally, he stopped halfway down the long and winging hallway to swerve on his heel and turn to face Richie, who looked to entirely casual for his own good, staring almost interested at his surroundings, those blazing blue eyes seemed to innocent to belong to such a wicked person – his completely flawless face was to perfect to be guilty.

"Why the hell are you here?"

"I can't visit the object of my donations?"

"The hell with donations, Richie! What is this about?"

"It's simple. I'm here to invite you, and your friends, to a benefactor's party."

Richie raised his neatly trimmed yellow brow, leaning forward, he held out a small envelope with neat print on the front that read 'For the Requested Honored Guest' in black cursive that for some reason did not come off as the least bit feminine. Mac stared with quiet concentration at the paper and held it at his side idly, silently accepting it without much of a fuss.

Mac lifted his head to stare at a smiling Richie, whose cold eyes gave him an entirely different temperature than his grin. Something didn't add up, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Richie had really done him no wrong, yet he hated him. For what? He had done nothing but confess feelings to him he wasn't sure he wanted to accept – but was definitely curious about.

"I'm sorry… you know, about last night…"

"What for?"

"Well… I guess I just made a mistake…"

There was his eye brow twitching again. Mac could almost see the jealously flare inside the boy's expression, yet it seemed to stay just as inquisitive and business oriented as ever.

"I don't like guys, Richie. You know I've had a crush on Jenny for a while now..."

Mac laughed nervously, but Richie was deadly silent. His glare intensified, and his fingers gripped tightly into a fist, which he hid in his pocket. His plan would not work if he showed his frustration, and instead only began to gently chuckle as best he could. It sounded genuine, as he had been perfecting such a fake laugh for a while now. His father always told him to laugh at his business partners joke, and there lay in his technique.

"Of course! A mistake! Well, I also had taken one too many sips of my fathers' champagne before we met so… I also apologize."

Mac this time seemed to buy into it all to well. The boy trusted him, and such a thing had Richie's heart flaring with pride that he had been able to pull the wool over his eyes. It would be all too easy molding him into what he needed now, all he had to do was keep his calm and continue on with his master plan.

However, Mac, despite his exterior definitely did not buy everything Richie was selling. Richie… he knew his laugh, as strangely as it sounded. A true laugh, even if meant out of spite, was nasally and unpleasant. However, this laugh came directly from the teens chest as opposed to his throat and nose. This game of Clue was getting interesting, and although Mac told himself this was no game to be playing – he couldn't help but get caught up in the aspect of winning the prize, Freedom.

Richie was more cocky then this, more self-righteous. Mac had gone to school with Richie for all of elementary, and half of Junior High before he was transferred out to a private school that opened across town. People did not change in the course of a few years, and while Richie was definitely more manipulative and conniving then he had been in his younger years – he was still completely naïve to how people really thought of him.

The real Richie Wildebrat would have laughed at him and shredded the invitation. This Richie… made him feel equal. Even in the bedroom, as embarrassing as the thought was, acted superior and all knowing despite the fact he had the same amount of experience as Mac had. However, that to was debatable.

All Mac knew was that this was a game he wasn't sure he wanted to play, but was forced to. Mac hated to say as well, that he was sort of enjoying the extra attention either way.

"Well I'm glad you understand! I'll invite Frankie, and Coco, and Eduardo, and Wilt… and _Bloo_…"

Richie bit his tongue, swallowing quickly the blood that surfaced from it with a mighty gulp that caught even Mac's attention. Mac however, did not call him on it and seemed to give the impression he did not notice it at all. Mac smiled to himself, counting off his fingers to those he would invite. All his closest friends would be there, and he was sure that Richie had some elaborate plan to counter such a thing. Regardless of his suspicions, Richie only smiled and nodded, his hands shifting in his pockets.

Mac continued to list off his good friends in the house, while Richie clenched his teeth and listened to the extensive guest list.  
_  
This will not go over well with Father… we'll need twice as much food for those animals…  
_

In the middle of his speech, he was halted by a familiar face. One that he remembered all too vividly for his own liking. Instantly, he whipped away from Mac's dull conversation to hold a hand up and quiet him. Down the hall, he saw shuffling towards them a boy no taller than Mac, with much the same hairstyle.

He wore one of Mac's shirts, and indeed also his pants. Yet the boy's face was different, with large steel eyes that differed from his object of affection and torment. His nose was not upturned, but rather opposite and his smile was not as friendly or as captivating.

No, somehow, even in their similarities, this boy did little to remind him of his goal soul mate.

Richie growled lowly to himself, quietly in his throat as the blue humanoid approached and took his place beside Mac, a glare more wild then his own but just as intense.

"…Hello there-… oh what was your name?"

"Bloo."

"Yes. Right. Well… I'll have to be going…"

"Not so fast, Mr. Hotshot!"

Bloo, against Mac's quiet protest reached out to grab Richie by the back of the collar before he could start back down the hall. Richie whipped around to face him with a genuinely surprised and naïve look if Mac had ever seen one. His nose poked up and a deep frown made his face look much longer than it actually was. In all reality, he seemed all too vulnerable around the feisty blue character.

"What were you doing to my best pal here, huh? Whatever it was I didn't like it! Before you start hanging out with _my_ kid you've got to ask permission!"

Richie looked to Mac with a sort of questioning look. For once, without smoke or mirrors, the two boys saw eye to eye regarding the confusion that came with Bloo's outburst. Bloo quickly yanked Richie to face him at his own level, sneering over-dramatically at him.

Bloo honestly did not have a clue about how to deal with him, and amazingly it was vice versa.

"Bloo I-… he was just inviting _me_… I mean _us_ to a party."

Bloo quickly let go of the boy's collar, sending him wobbling a few steps backwards to catch his footing. He fixed his collar and looked down at Bloo as he always had, but however this was only a tactic to make himself look better and less for intimidation than he had in the past.

"A party huh?! Is there gonna be cake? You know man, because I've been craving some cake!"

Bloo rubbed his stomach and patted Mac on the back, as if it was he who was throwing the party. Bloo seemed completely charmed by the promise of sweets, and almost seemed to completely forget how negative the last night had gone. Maybe, it was just in Bloo's personality to forgive and forget as long as it didn't directly affect his ability to do something he wanted to.

Oh, how wrong Mac and Richie were.

Bloo too, wanted to join the game, even without the both of them knowing. He would play stupid and get what he wanted, all along securing his friendship with Mac. He wanted to be with Mac forever, to play games and skateboard and do all those things they did together every day for the rest of his life.

Heck if he let some rich, snotty kid get in the way of his happiness.

"I'll take Winston here to the door… You don't mind if I call you 'Winston' right?"

Bloo said in an overly sophisticated voice, as he always did when he was trying to con somebody out of something, or even just charm them into thinking he was more trustworthy and mature then he actually was. He wrapped an arm around Richie's shoulders and pulled him forward with a surprisingly urgent grip.

He began to walk, Mac following puzzled behind his imagination.

Richie could only tuck his arms to his sides and stumble forward at the friend's request, down the stairs and to the grand door that centered itself in the entry hall.

"W-Winston? Why Winston?"

Richie finally questioned, standing next to the door, grossly close to his object of complete and utter dislike.

"You just seem like a Winston, sport!"

Richie raised a finger to timidly question how this was possible, but instead of shoved out onto the porch, and the door slammed in his face, leaving the usually overly confident Wildebrat to contemplate how in good god's name he could ever be mistaken for a 'Winston'?

Bloo twirled around to face Mac, a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat's. He held his hands behind his back, almost too friendly looking for what Mac was used to. He must have something more than despicable planned for him to look so guilty.

Even so, Mac could not resist the question that had been hanging on his tongue and nagging him for at least 3 minutes now.

"Bloo, why Winston?"

Mac asked urgently, as if too eager to know why. It honestly bugged him more than anything had since last night.

"All rich people call each other 'Winston'… duh, Mac."

Bloo rolled his eyes at the naivety that Mac still seemed to have over the affairs of others. Mac never did make friends well, that's why he made them up. Wasn't that right? Bloo had to be the one to teach him street smarts. If he didn't, how would his kid survive everyday on his block-long walk to school?

From behind his back, Bloo fingered something that he quickly shoved into his pocket before pulling his hands out to reveal the cold, metal watch that sat on his wrist. Not only did it tell time in bright green numbers, it also looked expensive, making the already arrogant Bloo even prouder of his 'world-class' looks.

Mac could only slap his head at what he had done to the thing already.

"You don't like it, Mac?"

Bloo said with a fake concern, holding up his wrist, it was revealed he had painted flames on it's side, to make it seem more 'appealing' or 'radical' as Bloo liked to think of it. He would more than likely become even more popular then he already was with such an accessory.

"I mean, if people didn't already like me ENOUGH!"

Bloo flaunted, kissing it as if it could respond back. Mac shook his head gently, but decided not to scold the imagination for his 'creativity'. Already, he had enough stress in that last two days.

"Yeah, yeah – it's cool Bloo… but I've got to get home. My mom must be worried sick."

"Oh yeah, she stopped by today…"

_ "WHAT?!"_

* * *

_  
_**Authors Note:**

Sorry for the slow update. I mean, a whole ten days without a chapter? That's criminal! XD 

**I was just itching to write it all week but I couldn't find the time or the patience, but here it is! I've been slow on idea's, and trust me, everything is pretty much a 'wing it' when I'm writing this stuff. I don't sit and think, the idea's just flow, so sometimes it takes me a while to get it down in print. **

I guess my girlfriend discovered this story and to say the least she wasn't pleased with the fact I made them do the nasty. She has a sort of 'dislike' for slash. In her respect, I'll try to tone it down a bit, but I won't disappoint my fan's either.

I do agree it happened a bit 'fast' but I wanted something to catch the readers attention.

** Anyways guys and gals, thanks for staying with me! Reviews are MORE than welcome (I live off them plzthx) and I would love some feedback on this chapter. Like idea's for what will happen next?**

Also, my beta (basically grammar/spelling checker) is kinda doing her own thing so I'd appreciate it from now on if you guys could just review on any grammar/spelling errors you notice and I'll fix it up right away.  



	8. Hidden Order

"That isn't funny, Bloo!"

Mac's eyes couldn't have gotten any wider, his face sinking into an unattractive, jittery and sick expression. It looked like it was plausible that he was doing some sort of drug, even to those who didn't know what drugs were could tell something was seriously the matter with the usual calm and collected Mac – excluding of course, his previous sugar rushes.

Bloo, in an opposite reaction seemed even more mellow then usual, poking at his watch and playing with its different, limited functions.

The panicking 17 year old did not allow this to go one much longer, as anyone who knew Mac knew that what Mac felt was conveyed to everyone, regardless if it was fear or relaxation, the former being apparent in this particular situation.

Mac's hands reached forward and grabbed the humanoid friend by the shoulders, shaking him spastically as if to knock some sort of explanation for what he had said into the blue critter's head. His teeth grit and his eyes wild, he used all of his energy to channel to his arms and create a thrashing that might have looked painful from anyone else's eyes.

"Whoa buddy, just calm down!"

"How can you tell me to calm down? HOW?!"

Mac screamed at the top of his lungs, a high-pitched shriek that did not appear in any normal circumstance.

"She-Doesn't-Suspect-A-Thing!"

As soon as Bloo was allowed to sputter those words between the rattling, Mac unclenched his burning hands from the thought, and drew back to stare in bewilderment and confusion.

"What _did _you tell her?"

He asked, trying to speak calmly but falling short. Bloo disregarded the shaking voice, brushing his arms off as if Mac had dirtied him in some way. In reality, it seemed more like a force habit than anything else.

"Well, _I_ didn't tell her anything – Mr.Herriman told her, when she came to pick you up, that they saw you falling down a tree during a walk in the park with Madam Foster and that they took you home. Then, they told her that you left for school a while before she stopped by."

Mac listened with utmost care, trying his best to find some sort of plot hole – but there was none. Mr.Herriman, in combination with Madam Foster made up an excellent fairy tale weaved out of nothing but assumptions. How did they know he was even near the park? That detail was too specific to be coincidence. Even so, it sounded like there was no hope of his mother suspecting a thing. He even assumed Bloo had the patience to hide in her presence, another equally intelligent thing he did not accept from any of them.

He instantly felt terrible for despising Mr.Herriman as much as he had, and wished desperately to apologize for his attitude and dirty looks. In all honesty, he knew that there was no reason in the first place to dislike Mr.Herriman, but it was so easy with as stuffy as he was – at his age, the entire word seemed to be against him anyways.

Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and the clock seemed to mock him at just the right time – customary to clocks, it seems – with a loud chiming. Mac, although a bit discouraged, counted 12 strikes of the clock. At the last ring, Mac let his eyes swell to the size of saucers.

"12… o'clock?"

"Yeah?"

Bloo butted in, his voice seemed curious but indifferent.

"I'm late for school!"

Mac screamed, dashing to the shoe rack to quickly lace up his shoes and throw his grubby backpack over his shoulder. Bloo could only watch in fascination and awe as his friend did this at the speed of light.

For one soft moment, he felt as if Mac was back to normal.

"Bye Bloo! See you at 3!"

Bloo's stiff exterior relaxed, and his heart gave a frightful jerk. He could feel his arms trembling, becoming heavy and dropping to his sides as he let the words he had head every day for more than 5 years wash over him.

It had been the first time in the last, stressful two days that Mac had said those words so casually and without a hint of question that he would, indeed, be back at 3 o' clock give or take a few minutes.

He felt his heart throb and sink into his chest, and he couldn't help but raise a hand and lay it across his chest to calm it. Before he could help himself, tears dripped down his cheeks and he could feel the world swirling around him and gravity intensifying to the point where he was brought to his knees in all his pathetic glory to sob needlessly into his own palms – for once, not caring what anyone else thought of him, that is, of course except for Mac and exclusively Mac

---

Mac jogged backwards down his usual route to Foster's, smelling the sweet air rush in his face and pushing his clothes against his body. His mind, for once, was clear of any thoughts beyond his normal ones of being late to school and having a killer math test due on Friday that he wasn't sure he could pass, but always did.

Of course, he didn't even get a block when he noticed a rather familiar car quietly towing behind him.

He sighed heavily, upset he was once again interrupted from his daily activities and quietly turned around to confront the car and no-doubt the rich, inconsiderate suitor inside. However, when he swung around to do so with a stern expression – there was simply no car to speak of.

He waited quietly for someone to reach out and grab him, but there was none. A car could simply not just 'disappear' into thin air, even if had driven off he would have heard it. Mac tuned to continue his walking, only to see none other than his rival standing right in front of him with that damn smug expression he always had, and those fancy clothes he had seen him in at Foster's.

Mac began to open his mouth to tell him off, however when he did, Richie had completely vanished – mimicking the car.

"You won't get to me Richie! I know you're there!"

Mac screamed in desperation and a tinge bit paranoia to the world, catching anyone's attention on the street that had been walking by. His eyes darted back and forth, and with no response, he dashed forward – believing something might be chasing him.

However, even 7 more blocks down, neither the car nor Richie appeared. Mac, breathless, reached school just as lunch was ending and attended his last two class periods.

When he exited, he could find himself ignoring his classmates asking why he looked so spaced out, and even concerned teachers as to why he seemed 'off'. In normal circumstances, he would have been severely offended but in this particular circumstance he could only find himself caring less and less.

When he was finally within reach of Foster's, he was yanked away by a long, gloved hand that yanked him into an alley.

In panic, he swiftly breathed in air – a grave mistake, causing him to feel lightheaded and without even a warning he was limp in the arms of someone who had all the freedom to do what they wanted with his unconscious body.

* * *

Authors Note:

Hey everyone! I'm not dead whatsoever:D

I'm sorry I haven't been active and writing, this chapter has been hanging around my computer for a while and I just haven't gotten around to it. Its been quite a while since my last update and I sincerely apologize for those who have been waiting patiently for my work.

This chapter is a bit short, but that's because the next one is gonna be pretty long and exciting. We see Mac sort of developing a paranoia in this chapter. I feel like this chapter has a very 'anxious' and rushed atmosphere about it, which is another reason why it is short.

I feel like this chapter is 'blah' to me but I promise the next one will be better!

If I don't upload it today, It'll be here by Monday.

Now to answer some user reviews because I am nice like that!

Chainlinks : First, let me say thank you for the review! thumbs up I certainly do not mind if you add me to your list, in fact, I greatly encourage everyone else to do so :P! As for your review, I thank you for noticing my effort to bring humanity to the characters. I feel, when I am writing, that the characters have their own life and I share their emotions with them. It is hard for me to make a truly 'evil' character since I can definitely understand their motives and feelings behind all their actions. Bloo is definitely conniving as is Richie, and I am interested to see where their interactions take them.  
They are definitely pining for Mac's attention (whether it be romantic or platonic) and I think that aspect of them makes them very driven individuals. At the same time, Mac is not a push-over crybaby and he really doesn't even understand how much people actually need him in their lives and therefor, is very reckless with his decisions. Also, any rich bastard who whispers in your ear will make ANYONE with a gender cream themselves (I hope you enjoyed it :D).

watashi wa usagi : Hello 'I am Usagi', strange name you picked out for yourself there... Anyways! Thank you for your review! I'm glad my story catches your eye. There are just so many out there - I sure am glad you picked mine to add to you fandom!

Twilight Goddess Sage : What IS he going to do? That IS the question!


	9. Incalcuable Outcome

"What time is it?"

"9'o clock, Master Blooregard."

Bloo could feel his legs quake and his stomach quiver. He had paced in the hall of the door and the clock that hung over its threshold since 3:00 that afternoon, anxiously waiting for his creator to fulfill the promise he had made earlier that day. He remembered so vividly its sincerity and was not able to shake the feeling that it wasn't Mac's doing it at all that he wasn't here when he was supposed to be.

He had shrugged the opinions made by others that he would not show up today, no one knew more than Mac that consequences of that. Bloo was humbly surprised however that Mr.Herriman did not lift a finger to advertise his status as adoptable, and for that, had been on his best behavior since this morning. Even going as far as to do his assigned chores to pass the agonizing time waiting and fearing what happened to his beloved friend.

Bloo lifted a finger to his chin, pausing in the spot he had for the last few hours to glance at the clock to confirm what Mr.Herriman had told him. Sadly, there was no mistake, and Bloo could feel his heart sinking into an even deeper depression.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"Quite so. His mother most probably is keeping him home for his health. I assure you he will be here sometime tonight or possibly tomorrow at the specified time."

Mr.Herriman seemed confident and proper in his answer, hopping forward to place a hand on the blue humanoid's shoulder in a slight measure of comfort. He understood what it was like to fear for his creator's life, for he had done it with his dear Madam Foster on one to many an occasion.

"At ease, Master Blooregard. Take off that contraption and get some rest, if you'd be so inclined."

"I guess maybe you're right. His mom did seem pretty worried…"

Bloo rationalized, if not only to comfort himself and the terrible stress he had been under. Snapping off the watch, he shrugged off Mr.Herriman's hand and retreated to his room. Most every friend in Foster's was already tucked tight in their beds, save for the nocturnal friends, but he certainly wasn't one of those.

--

When Mac awoke, he awoke to darkness. He realized quickly that he was not blind, but rather blind folded and in some smelly room with no doubt stagnant air. He went to move his hand slightly to remove the blindfold, but alas he was unable just as he had anticipated. The panic did not begin to rise like it should have, but that was rather do to the fact that Mac was so incredibly exhausted and he was not quite sure why. It was hardly plausible that it was because of his all-night exploits, but most likely do to the effects of whatever drug they had put him under to get him to pass out in the first place.

No, the panic did not begin to rise until he got to thinking moments later of what they were going to do with him. At first, he could not connect Richie with what was happening, but it was plain to see it was his doing once he was able to gather himself. He was definitely afraid.

Stuck fast to a chair, blind-folded, he kept completely still and silent – afraid he might alert someone to his conscious state. He did his best to breath slowly, not that he could breathe faster if he wanted with how heavy and immobile his body was. He found the drug slowly wearing off as moments passed, but was unable to tell how long he had stayed still, focusing on keeping quiet. He never knew how much time was really an illusion, how scary it was to not know how long you have resided or when you were going to die.

Just as he was accepting he would be placed in the situation forever, the blind fold was yanked off and he was revealed to be in quite a lavish room, despite the heat and smell of it. He soon realized it was not from the room, but from his own sweating body that the smell rose from.

His eyes darted and he went to move his mouth to bark a question, only to find himself far too tired to do so. He cried in frustration in his mind, wishing desperately to be able to communicate at least that he wished to be set free, or that he didn't want to die.

The very person he expected least walked casually in front of him, scowling with a sinister smirk directed at him.

"Hey, loser."

Terrance spat, laughing deeply with his usual teenage rasp.

* * *

Authors Note:

If two alerts were sent out for this chapter, I apologize. I spotted a spelling error and I had to go and fix it so I had to pull the whole thing!

My god, I am so sorry this chapter is only 800 words long. This is a transitional chapter into the big action-packed one, which should be done by Monday, if not in like... an hour or so. I am really in the writing mood, so it'll probably be done sooner than Monday but JUST TO WARN because I love you all so much :P!

Yes, Terrance! I know, shocking eh? There's got to be a plethora of questions. 'Why Terrance?' and 'What's his motive?', well, that'll be revealed within the next chapter so I won't talk much more about him - but you're welcome to inquire.

Another note on how short the chapter is... well, I think it's 'Quality over Quantity' since I put a lot of detail into this chapter. Its very suspenseful and I just have a really good feeling you guys definitely enjoyed this one more than the last. But I could be wrong! At least I enjoyed writing it more than the last.

Alright, answering some reviews! (Because I love doing it so!)

Chainlinks : I appreciate it! I definitely have a lot of common with Bloo, he's one of the easiest characters for me to portray but I can see how some writers might have issues with his character. It's a bit hard for some people to grasp when a character is truly conniving like Bloo is. I see a lot of authors romanticizing his character or getting rid of his mischievous nature all together to nurture a romance with Mac or another character, but personally I think Bloo's attitude is excatly what makes him an attractive character to use, so I think thats why a lot of those stories die out or become discontinued often.

Concerning the clock, I can definitely relate. I feel like time always moves to fast or two slow. Its always against you! A conspiracy I say:P

Twilight Goddess Sage : First and foremost, there will be NO rape in this story. Maybe some 'sexual harassment' but definitely no rape. What I consider rape is basically book definition, which is 'forceful entry of the penis into any orfice of the body without prior consent' - this also applies to females raping males. I won't go into detail, but just use your imagination... anyways, the point being that, I might have characters force sexual foreplay but definitely not rape them.

Not to say that sexual harassment(what I consider 'forced foreplay' in the confines of my stories, not applying that definition to the real world) is any minor offense, but I feel rape is a bit too overwhelming to readers and not to mention inappropriate, just in case immature children read this. Not to mention, I feel it will take away from the story rather than add to its experience, since rape on a character that is USUALLY portrayed as an 8 year old boy is no doubt disturbing.

I agree Bloo and Mac make a really good couple, but I'm not sure where I will take them in this story. I haven't decided who Mac ends up with in the end, so I can't tell you how much their relationship will prosper or not. I can say the same for Mac and Richie. We'll all just have to see:3


	10. Breathless Answers

"Surprised?"

An understatement. Here he was, sweating and half awake in a room style most familiar. He put two and two together instantly, knowing more than ever that Richie was involved.

His stupid brother had no idea how to plan something by himself. He was too coked up, living in his friend's basement. He hadn't seen him in 3 years, ever since his mother kicked him out of the house and refused to let him see his drunkard brother – a decision, at the time, seemed harsh but now seemed entirely appropriate.

Terrance orbited his chair like a lion on the prowl, his crooked tooth grin forever engraved in his mind. Terrance looked a great deal older, but not much better.

From the get-go, Terrance had only been 3 years older than Mac – putting him currently at 20. He certainly didn't look it, and his cracking voice did little to even itself out. It hadn't gotten much deeper, but distinctly more raspy. If you have ever heard growling dog using its teeth to play a weathered record, you would definitely mistake Terrance for it.

Mac could only stare in hatred and exhaustion at his poor excuse of a brother, trying to sound like any kind of charming. It was failing miserably, not that Mac could form coherent sentences.

"You're probably wondering where you are, right?

Mac dully nodded.

"And why?"

Mac repeated the gesture.

"Well, to make a long story short – I am supposed to tell you that some rich kid wants you to date him and to hold you hear till' he gets back… but I also took your wallet."

Mac could only grimace – how could he get to the library without his bus card? How could he get a book without his library card? And how could he pay for lunch there without money?

It was all just too bothersome, if he just had avoided Richie and never allowed him to pull him into that car… just maybe he wouldn't be in this mess right now.

"…n-..na-no…"

Terrance sarcastically cupped a hand around his overly large ear, getting closer to the struggling Mac who choked on words he desperately wished would come through for him.

"N-no."

Mac sputtered weakly, causing a grinch-like smile to crawl over his pimple-dotted features. Mac wasn't sure what he was saying 'No' to, but he figured it was pretty universal for all the questions. No to Richie's advances and No to Terrance mugging him.

However, his plea's were ignored and Terrance was left to chuckle to himself and cruelly pinch Mac's nose shut – causing him to breathe with hard, labored breaths from the toll of the drug weighing heavily on his chest.

Once Terrance had gotten his fun out of making his brother struggle to breath, he unclasped his fingers and wagged the wallet in front of the boy's face, sticking out his tongue in a juvenile taunt before pocketing it in worn-down, beer stained jeans.

"Right bro, good luck with your new boyfriend!"

He cackled, exiting from a door invisible to Mac, leaving him to wait and worry about what was to come just moments afterwards.

--

The next morning confirmed his worst fears, Mac did not show up at his 3:00 scheduled time and again Mac's mother had stopped by to ask of his whereabouts. Except this time, a more intricate lie was placed that a friend had seen him walking to school and that they would call as soon as he returned to the house. Already late to work, Mac's mother bought the story at retail value and had left Bloo with even more questions.

To cope, he had been wearing the watch all day waiting, actually doing chores and helping in subtle ways. When the clock struck 3, and then 3:30 however, he was unable to contain his worry and frustration and dropped whatever activity had been up to at the moment to start a rage-filled, determined march to Mr.Herriman's office, where he hoped to demand, and ultimately receive answers.

Just as he was about to throw the door open and reveal the culprit, he was stopped.

A firm hand on his shoulder caused him to whip around, immediately wishing he had not.

"Hello _friend_."

* * *

**  
Author's note:**

I said on Monday but its... Thursday of the next week. Again, no time. XX

Sorry for the late, and short chapter. This next one I will be doing imedetatily after this one. It will take a bit more time. If its not done by tonight - I apologize. It should be done within the next two weeks.


	11. A Way With Words

_It's hard to breathe._

Mac thought with a definite lack of interest, his head hung in defeat and shame as he quietly waited what was to come. For what seemed like hours, he waited patiently for his own demise – to hear the click of a hammer as it was pulled back, and the clink of the trigger as it snapped against the metal and released his soul into whatever afterlife awaited him.

Usually, Mac was not one to think grim thoughts, but he was unable to help himself. He was too exhausted to make merry, too confused to use his usual logic to try and get himself out of the situation. Although he was tethered to the chair, it wouldn't have mattered; he could hardly lift his head let alone his entire body.

If Richie was trying to catch him off guard, he had succeeded.

--

Bloo's large, steely eyes concentrated coldly on the person in front of him and in a second, his head was filled with more questions than he had when he learned about _the birds and the bees_. The man standing, no,_towering _over his blue frame in a manner only the simply pompous could.

Bloo went to open his mouth, his face curling into a defensive scowl. Richie quickly silenced him with a white gloved finger thrust into the air, causing, by force habit, his mouth to close.

"Tut-tut."

Richie said mockingly, fishing through his pants pocket to pull out a piece of paper and unrolling it slowly, the imaginations eyes glued to the letters as he did so, unable to make anything out quite yet, but desperately trying to convince himself he could.

When it was finally unrolled, Bloo was taken back, literally.

He took a few cautious, shocked steps away from the blonde haired teen who smirked with such a robust pride that he was sure that he had just won the Olympics.

The paper_affectionately_ read:

**Adoption of****Blooregard Q. Kazoo**

**Adoption Pledge:**

**I, ****Richard B. Wildebrat****, do solemnly swear to provide love and warmth to the friend I have chosen. I promise to keep them well fed and will nurse them in cases of sickness. I promise not to harm my friend, and will keep them from harm. I promise to adopt this friend only for companionship and care. I understand that if my friend is mistreated in any way, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friend's and any of its affiliations can and will remove the friend from ****R.W**** 's care.**

**Richie B. Wildebrat**

Bloo could only stare in utter awe at the paper between his fingers, awe that quickly turned to anger and resentment. This was a dirty trick, and now he knew for sure that his friend was in trouble. He clenched his fists at his sides; blue knuckle's clutched so tightly that they turned a light periwinkle.

His fist rose above his head, ready and poised to drive down into Richie's face and wipe that disgusting look right off. Yet, even with his fist high and mighty above his head, and his own face contorted into a tangle of hatred – Richie did not flinch; in fact, he didn't even move aside or try to run.

Bloo would have cared to ask why, but was heated beyond boiling point. Throwing his fist forward, only for it to be caught mid-punch by another white gloved hand – this one, stretching from over his shoulder.

"Let me go, Mr. H."

The blue humanoid hissed, frustration oozing between his clenched teeth and his usually high-pitched voice sinking into depths it had never before.

"Master Blooregard, I understand you are not pleased with the circumstances… but I have no choice. He is a suitable caretaker and has many credentials… its Foster's duty to...-"

Bloo could only whip around and fling his other fist at the rabbit, who barely dodged its fury. It was a careless mistake, one that had Richie grabbing him under his arm pits and folding his fingers on the back of his head – and effective lock that had Bloo squirming to release himself from its grip.

"I don't care about what Foster's duty is, Harriman! This guy touched Mac and I bet he's going to do worse! This is all part of his plan!"

"Master Blooregard! Your frustration is valid but- this man has shown nothing but kindness to this house and I will not have you insulting him!"

Bloo took a moment to soak up the words, he quickly let himself fall deadweight into Richie's lock, a surprise to the Wildebrat – causing him to stumble forward several steps, desperately trying to regain a steady grip on him.

The imagination, again, was struck with disbelief. The boy holding him had not only fooled Mr. Harriman, but most likely Madame Foster. He quickly released how hopeless a battle it was to fight physically, but was unable to let go of his pride, to give up on proving his innocence and most importantly, convincing Mr. Harriman Mac was in real danger.

"Mr.…Mr. Harriman, sir. May I ask permission to speak with Bloo-…I mean Blooregard in your office alone? I might yet convince him of my innocence."

"You may, but I request you make your visit short as I have many papers to address."

Bloo was dragged, not without difficultly into the office just across the way. Once inside, Richie quickly released Bloo from his hold and locked the door behind him. The friend was quite predictable, as it threw its blue-skinned frame with great force at him, with all the intention to harm him.

Richie only had to step aside and push back with an equal amount of force, causing the creation to stumble a good distance back, staring with violent rage at Richie – who could only tuck his hands in his black blazers pockets and smile as if he was not being confronted with someone who had all the zeal to kill him where he stood.

"What did you do with Mac?!"

"That's none of your concern."

"You're really getting on my nerves!"

Bloo squealed with rage, throwing himself once again at Richie, who dodged and made his way behind Mr. Harriman's desk, placing himself in front of the stain glass window that overlooked the office. He made no move to defend himself, instead, with all the charm of a newly crowned prince, would move quaintly aside.

"You have something of mine."

Bloo quickly jumped back to the moment where he withdrew a small tissue from the teen's pocket, shoving his hands in his own pants pocket to retrieve it, holding it up and wagging it accusingly at him.

"What is this?!"

"None of your concern, simply hand it over."

"What's in it for me?!"

"Freedom from this entire mess."

Richie said with a smile to sickeningly arrogant for the statement above. He slammed the adoption paper upon the desk in front of him, and sneered with his eyes at the humanoid to do the same with the tissue. Bloo hesitantly placed it alongside the paper, his hand firmly placed upon it so that Richie would be unable to snatch it before he was ready.

"You learn fast for being uneducated and uncultured."

Richie couldn't help but dish out an insult, licking his upper lip in anticipation for the deal before them. Bloo twitched with anger, but thought against exposing his annoyance with him. Instead, he waited patiently for further directions – when none were given, he spoke up himself.

"What if I don't want freedom?"

"That can be arranged also."

With a sneer, he slammed his fist upon Bloo's fingers and snatched both the adoption certificate and the rag from his possession. He shoved quickly the rag into his pocket and carefully rolled the paper into a neat scroll, watching as Bloo babbled half-formed words as he pampered his recently injured hand. This lasted just enough for Richie to make way towards the door – with haste – and unlock it.

Bloo lunged at him a second to late once his fingers had recovered, allowing him to fall into the entry hall and into the eye of Mr. Harriman – who extended his hand outwards towards him, a hand he cruelly smacked from his sight.

Richie leant down to Bloo's level, where he whispered a sinister promise in his ear.

_If you come with me, I will take you to your creator._

_ --_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**So how do you like that?! I got this one done pretty fast eh? **

**I was pretty happy with how this turned out, but I think I replaced 'Harriman' with 'Herriman' a few times. I think, in past chapters, I used the 'Herriman' spelling as well. Oh well. **

**This chapter has quite a bit of action, and not as much of a cliff hanger than the last. It's a great deal longer, over 1000 words. **

**The title is slowly starting to make more and more sense, and Richie's plan is forming right before your eyes. I do know what his plan is, of course, but it's the reader's to figure out the entire elaborate scheme (and it IS elaborate). **

**You guys really started me thinking about adding characters I didn't even think of. I'm starting to get a bit messy with the background character's, and I only bring them in when I need them to further the plot or convey a message. Frankie, Duchess, Eduardo, Wilt, Coco and Madame Foster will most likely be making appearances in the future, but since the story doesn't require their presence quite yet I don't know if I'll include them any time soon.**

**Not to mention I feel a bit uncomfortable adding them to the story, as they are innocent characters and I don't want to corrupt them with the subject matter (you know, the whole 'homosexual' thing). But I can definitely see them making appearances later in the story.**

**This chapter is definitely an actiony chapter. The last 3 have been dull and boring and I apologize for their nature. The next one's to come will be jumpy and much more emotive!**

**The next chapter should be done within the next week or so, if not by tonight or tomorrow. Review's are MORE than welcome and I encourage questions so I have something to answer in my author's note! XP**


	12. A Playwright

** Bloo's POV -**

Here's some advice. Never take advice. Your gut instinct is almost _always _right, except when, you know, it tells you to burn things or something. I never had that feeling, so I can't relate.

I can't count how many times I wanted to hurt the little butt hole in the front seat. His smile makes me want to puke. His eyes _never_ told the truth - and I couldn't help but hate him even more for sharing that with me. Faking out was my territory, and I had just been nipped in the butt for all my past deeds ten fold - what did Madam Foster call it… Karma?

So there I was, smashed against the window seat I had complained about having because of a fat tiger thing - Blake Inferior. I could take on that lummox any time and I'd still beat him.

I stared angrily out the tinted window, concentrating more on my anger than anything else. It smelt like old people and I hated it, but one thing I did draw amusement from was the way the people looked purple because of the tinted glass. I only wish Mac was here to see this…

"Mac… how much is he worth to you?"

It was a question out of the blue, Richie reached his head back, and with those untelling eyes stared at me curiously, smug as always - his stuck up nose and discolored freckles looking as hideous and stupid as always.

"What kind of question is that?"

"No need to get offended. I'm just curious…"

Yeah, _right_.

"Maybe like, 5 million dollars or something."

I answered truthfully. I mean, 5 million dollars was a lot. Just think of how sweet I would have it! That automatic paddle ball would just be the first thing, but after that, I could have a pool full of jell-o and Rod Tango as my best pal!

Without realizing it, I smiled a sleazy smile as I thought of the good life.

"Done."

My eyes widened, and I stared at a check that had the amount I had just described. The pale hand holding it wagged it at me anxiously, a smirk on his face.

I realized what an idiot I was… but this was a definite opening.

"Say, Winston was it? I want it in cash."

He sneered.

"_Cash_? That's ridiculous!"

"Ah-Ah-Ah. If you're going to bargain it has to be my way or the highway, pal!"

I crossed my arms in satisfaction, the car coming to a slow halt. I relished the idea of quickly leaving the squeezed confines of the limo, but the doors did not unlock as planned.

"Look, if I give it to you in cash… You'll promise to keep your mouth shut and not speak a word of this?"

--

** Richie's POV -**

That little snot-nosed…

This was getting out of hand. I wasn't even sure Mac was worth 5 million dollars, especially not in cold cash. Father had taught me to deal with people like this, but I still wasn't prepared for it when I was confronted. He was playing hard to get, and it was beginning to wear on my patience.

My entire week's allowance, all gone for that obsession of mine - he better be grateful!

"Of course, Of course… I won't tell a soul, Winston!"

"My name is Richard."

"_Riiight_, Winston."

I sighed. It was hopeless.

The doors unlocked and I had my personal body guard and playmate, Blake, escort him by the arm out and onto the massive steps. As I walked up the steps and to the door, Mac's brother exited, holding a small, leather scrap of something. He waved it at me and smirked, exiting with his foul smelling cronies. Good, at least _something_ went my way in the last three days.

The little blue terror sneered, but said nothing as we escorted him down the hall and through a tangle of corridors and flights of stairs before finally reaching our destination.

There was the chair, sitting with it's wooden back faced to us, in the middle of the room. I peered at the expression of the imagination, only to catch a glimpse of anxiety before he reverted back to his playful, cocky nature.

What was he planning?

Suspicious, I held up my hand to instruct my own imagination to hold him still, unable to see Mac's face. I walked forward and stood stoic in front of my prize.

He really did look less attractive when he was sweating and half asleep.

His neck rolled and cracked, craning his head to face me. He was un-amused, as I expected.

"Feeling light-headed, are you? I've brought someone."

He said nothing, but his shoulders tensed, as if ready to jump on me if given the chance.

I withdrew my negotiations ticket from my pants, Blooregard's adoption form, waiting quietly for it's final signature from yours truly. He grunted and whipped his head up fully.

"You… you jerk! I told you to stay away from him! He has nothing to do with this!"

"He has everything to do with this. If he interferes, I'm afraid we just can't have peace and quiet - can we?"

"Mac."

Unexpectedly, the blue humanoid shrugged Blake's hand from his arm and stepped forward and beside me. I stepped aside quietly, to avoid him violating my personal space - it was force habit, really.

"_Bloo_…"

"Hey buddy… how are you feeling?"

He said, so wickedly sweet - what happened to our deal?

"What does it look like? Bloo…"

Oh my. _Tears._

"Enough of that. You're going to upset him and if we can't speak rationally then nothing will be done properly!"

I clapped my hands and Blake obliged me by pulling Bloo away from view of Mac, he was upset by this visibly, trying to whip his head in a 360 degree motion to view his friend.

I leaned over, placing a gentle hand on his chin to have him face me. I smiled just as coyly as his imaginary friend had.

"Now you should know the terms. All you have to do is surrender your freedom after school to me, and all of this will go away. If you do that, then I will decline to sign this document, I'll give my pocket money to your friend, and I will assure that he remains in Foster's until he, himself wishes to part from it."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then, I adopt your friend completely and force him into isolation inside my mansion, and I will take measures to convince my father's friends that Foster's is an unfit facility for care and I'll have it shut down completely. In addition, I will sue your mother for the vandalism your brother did to one of my father's buildings and you will be put in the poor house. That doesn't sound pleasant, does it?"

"You can't do that! The authorities would know! People aren't stupid, Richie!"

"Stupid? No. Gullible and Naïve? _Yes_."

I withdrew my hand from his chin, using it to roll up the adoption form and stick it into my pocket. I turned my back to him, crossing my arms behind me.

"I'll leave you to discuss your decision."

I stepped forward, feeling a power surging in my body I had never felt before. The tears that ran down his face will like sweet victory to me. There was only one rational choice to make here. I was going to win!

--

** Mac's POV -**

Damn it, was I_ puppet_? _A doll? A plaything?_

I felt tears rush down my cheeks. All I wanted to do right now, the only place I wanted to be…

It was _Foster's_, playing with my best friends.

It was such a simple request. I just wanted to be with the people who cared about me, who had been there for me when I needed them. They were my _real _family. My mother, Terrance… they couldn't even compare.

And all this jerk wanted to do was take it away from me, for his own selfish reasons.

What was so great about me anyways? I was just some nerdy kid. I had never done anything of merit, except for creating Bloo.

_I didn't want any of this._

My pride was at an absolute zero at this point, and all I could think to do was make it easier for my friends and family…

Bloo stepped forward, I could hear his shuffling and I could feel his presence.

"Buddy…"

"Don't look at me like this. I'm pathetic."

I hissed, trying to bite my lip past the tears. The ropes had become undone in this time, most likely to Blake Superior. I drew my hands from the loose ropes, and like limp noodles, I slapped them against my face, hiding it from those who I felt judged me so.

"I'll help you Mac, I _promise_. I won't let this rich snob take you away from Foster's…"

"Bloo.. It's hopeless."

I sobbed, unable to come to any other resolution. My intricate plans, my optimism… it all seemed gone now. I was crumbling mess of a person who just wanted to go home, eat a hot meal and sleep.

Bloo stepped forward, against my precautions, and wrapped his arms around my head, pulling it into his chest. He sighed, and leant his chin against the top of my hair, damp from sweat.

"You're my best friend Mac. Even if you're not with me, you're still going to be my best friend. Forever. I mean, you created me and all…You stuck with me even when I was a jerk all those times…"

"Bloo… I don't want to do this."

He leant down, near my ear, his voice coming to a hush.

"I have a plan. Just roll with this."

I blinked, sniffling. A plan? What plan?

He pulled away from me, and ruffled my hair. I stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to explain. Instead, he walked quietly away from me, leaving me in a throbbing anticipation.

I couldn't tell if he had done it to calm me down, or if he had meant it.

_What was going to happen to us?_

**Authors Note:**

**Wooo, it's been long right? I just haven't had the time for this story, but here's another chapter hot off the... word... processor... thing...**

**All the new Foster's episodes have been motivating me. I'm very glad to say that I worked pretty hard on this chapter. A lot of talking, unfortunately, but you do get to see what the entire set-up of Richie's mind is.**

**As you can see, I decided to switch to first person, because this fic is starting to get very character-personal and I think it would be the best if I did it this way. Strangely, when I was writing this, It seemed like I had wrote it in first person all along :P**

**Alright, so I'll be waiting for more reviews. Thanks everyone who was patient with me! I can't say when the next chapter will be, but I am definitely in a creative mood so expect it within the month!**


	13. Placing Blame

**Bloo's POV -**

Man, walking out of that room was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. Actually, hitting three straight strikes on my favorite paddle ball was, but this was pretty hard, too. I had told that snake that I would take his money and leave, I put up that rich guy façade and even shook his sweating, smelling hand.

There wasn't a day in my life that I had hated the smell of cologne more than I did now.

As I got into the car, I couldn't help that maybe I had betrayed Mac in some way, even if I had something up my sleeve. I had no idea if it was going to work. All my previous plans had been failures but.. Best not dwell on the past. I mean, I was awesome right? Everything worked out in the end.  
_  
Didn't it?_

--

**Mac's POV -**

I couldn't help but laugh and cry at Bloo's behavior. He had acted so pompous, taking the check 'for now' and waiting for his truck load of one dollar bill's to arrive within the week. He laughed as if he was just like him, and for moments at a time, my weariness didn't allow me to see a difference between the two voices. They were one entity, and yeah, I guess I was feeling a bit betrayed.

I could still find humor and how he called him 'Winston' one last time.

I sure hope he knew what he was doing.

Part of me wanted to believe he just wanted the money and he wouldn't come back, because that would be better for everyone. It would cause less strain in the long run, and I was just so tired. I hadn't slept a good night's sleep in a good business week now, and I had no optimistic expectations of today either.

Oh and of course, it was Friday so I couldn't use the 'I need to go to school' excuse.

"Now that business was taken care of…"

Great. He was _talking _again.

He strolled in front of me, and I lowered my hands from my face to glare at him, allowing my inner hatred for him seep out slowly through my pupils.

"Do you like that public school of yours?"

He asked, nonchalantly. I was almost surprised that he was trying to make casual conversation, until my logic kicked in and ruined it for me.

"Allow me a scrap of freedom, Richie. I'm not going to go to your private school."

I huffed, monotone and factual. He had already bribed my best friend away from me with money, and then gave me the ultimatum to give him my after school time, but not ALL my time.

I was not interested in the idea of being forced into a new environment just so I could hang around _his highness. _

Besides, I could probably skip some school days that weren't important and run over to Foster's to visit. Bloo's idea for a plan had all but left my mind at this point, and I was uninterested in it now. All I wanted was a back-up plan. I needed to see my friends at Foster's. That was my home, after all.

Richie scoffed at my response, but said nothing else. I was glad for that at least.

This chair was starting to hurt my butt.

I attempted to stand, but wobbled. I got a startling case of vertigo, and before I knew it, I was falling face forward, my unwilling body trying to lead me to a face plant on the carpet.

Imagine my dismay as Richie extended a hand and grabbed my collar, causing me to gasp, throwing my hands against my neck in a desperate attempt to regain usage of my windpipe.

Thankfully, I was yanked back to feet. Still a bit wobbly, I grabbed on to Richie's arm for support, not caring whether or not he was the most hated person in the world right now. At the moment, he was acting as a balancing device.

--

**Richie POV -**

I had smiled in triumph, in sweet victory. I had always gotten may way, and it was definitely worth fighting for. I knew that little blue abomination was greedy, but I never thought he'd give up so easily the thing 'most precious' to him.

Apparently, I was all wrong.

Perhaps I was just getting a bit overconfident, but really, I just couldn't help myself. Such a great accomplishment… Nana would have been proud.

I snorted my usual laugh, which I thought was quite charming. I wasn't sure if it was out of triumph, or out of the fact that my new addition had almost fallen flat on his face.

Regardless, he didn't seem to think it was funny at all and as soon as he latched on to me as not to fall, he pulled away and wobbled away, mumbling 'Don't touch me' under his breathe and ruffling his hair.

He was amusing. More amusing than Blake Superior by far. Despite my imaginary friend's namesake, he definitely was not superior to Mac.

"I'll go get you some new clothes. You smell."

It just slipped I guess, I grabbed my nose and waved my hand towards him. He shot a glare at me, but sighed and shrugged. I had broken his will to fight me, but now that I had him here, I wasn't sure what I was supposed _to do _with him at all.

I walked to a small closet in the corner and pulled out a pair of silk pajama's, blue with white stripes. I examined them for rips, tears or other imperfections before folding them neatly and handing them to Mac, who yanked them from my arms and grumbled.

"Where am I supposed to change?"

He huffed, angry.

"Here."

I was feeling cocky. I suppose my ego had inflated, but…

I was just testing to see if he'd do it.

He sighed a sigh of frustration, but oddly, he made no move to argue with me about it. I could tell he had just about enough of my games and didn't feel like fighting me any longer.

It was almost as if it was in slow motion. I gulped down the lump in my throat and watched as he first pulled off his shirt, and then his pants, revealing some plain looking cotton boxers and a strangely inviting body frame.

He really must have been angry, because he didn't even look back to see if I was looking.

I was thankful, of course.

I watched with red cheeks as he pulled on my much more well tailored nightwear, buttoning it up casually and then taking his old, smelling clothes and tossing them into the chair he had been subjected to for at least 3 hours.

Without realizing it, I had become extremely hot, my face so red that I swore that I could have had steam coming from my ears. I watched with a hungry gaze for more, but was given nothing.

_I never knew how weak I was until that moment._

--

**Mac's POV -**

Stupid jerk. Selfish, ugly, annoying jerk!

A flurry of unflattering words swirled in my head, battering me and fanning the fire of my anger with this entire situation. I didn't think twice about changing out of my ratty rags that I had been sweating in for days. I didn't feel like getting into another match that I know that he would win anyways.

I hated him. Hated him with everything I was.

I pulled on the pants, then the shirt, fumbling with the buttons that made me even more upset. When I was done, I lashed out against my own clothing and threw aside into a chair, turning around to face Richie.

"What now? What do you want me to do?"

It was a question I thought made sense to ask. However, when I looked into his lust coated eyes and saw how red his face was, it was pretty obvious what was on his mind. I, too, blushed at the thought of anyone thinking of me in that way - it felt a bit flattering, but also extremely awkward. I decided to quickly come off of the subject.

"Hungry… I'm hungry."

"…Hungry?"

Richie mumbled, spaced out. I could have sworn he was on drugs. After answering, he quickly shook his head and blinked the thoughts out of his head, forcing a nervous laugh.

"Right. Hungry."

He stood up and walked out quickly, and I supposed I was expected to follow. For the moment, I wasn't thinking about Bloo or Foster's, I just wanted to eat, shower and then sleep.

I quickly became embarrassed about my smell, but was too shy and far too proud to say anything about it.

I followed him down to his lavish, ball-room sized kitchen, where he ordered the cook for the 'usual', which was unbeknownst to me.

After a quick conversation, I followed my captor into the long dining hall, similar to Foster's. I picked a seat at random, two chairs away from Richie, as not to be rude but still to keep a distance. I waited patiently, twiddling my thumbs. This was all new to me, and I wasn't sure if I liked it.

He began to make casual conversation.

"So… you're staying over?"

"I guess…"

"You can have your own room, if you want."

"Thanks…"

"We can play Time Racers 3 after this."

"Okay…"

He seemed to be getting frustrated with my quick, un-thoughtful answers. Even though I refused to make eye contact, I could hear his frustrated sighs.

He couldn't expect me to pretend I was okay with this. He wanted me to act as if I wasn't sold off by my best friend, not allowed to see my companions anymore, and forced to stay away from the one place that made me feel welcome.

I made my frustration with him clear enough. He could have bought me off of Bloo and threatened me, but that didn't mean I had to make it easy on him.

This was out of pure spite, and he knew it.

"Okay. I'll bite… What's wrong?"

I think that could have been the dumbest question I had ever been asked - except for when Bloo asked me what color he was, and at the time I didn't realize that was referring to a specific shade of blue and not just the general color itself.

Even so, this had to be ranking up there in the most stupid questions.

I couldn't help throwing pleasantries to the side.

"What do you mean what's wrong? I'll never be happy again, that's what wrong!"

Now I didn't want to sound like a whiner, but I had to concur with myself - _This sucked_.

He frowned and looked away from me, at least I heard his neck move or something. I didn't give him the pleasure of looking at my eyes anyways.

"Why do you have to be so difficult? It's not like I'm not fun or anything…"

"That's not the point. Haven't you heard the saying that if something is forced you can never fully enjoy it?"

"No. I've never heard that before."

"Typical."

I huffed quickly after his response, thankfully, the smell of food filled my nostrils and I knew I wouldn't have to talk circles with him anymore. A plate of premium steak was set out before me, and I blushed furiously at how magnificent it looked.

I contemplated on not eating it, but that would be rude and wasteful. Not to mention… my stomach was churning for some real food.

Despite how much I wanted it to show it into my mouth and swallow it in one piece, I struggled with cutting it properly and eating it that way. There wasn't much conversation, and no surprise that I finished first - with a stomach ache to boot.

I wish I hadn't eaten so fast.

I looked a cup full of bubbling, brown water and took a sip. Hopefully, it would calm my stomach enough as not to make this evening even more unpleasant.

I wasn't in the mood for asking favors, but I really wished I could talk to Bloo right now.

I missed him more than I realized I would. This was going to be tough…

After finishing, we were left in an awkward silence at the table, at which point, Richie once again tried to convince me he wasn't a total jerk - which he was, no doubt.

"You'll get to see them all at the party next week… isn't that good?"

"Look, I don't have feelings for you. Just give it up."

I was sick of playing. I didn't like guys. What we did was a mistake, a stupid mistake that I was not proud of. Damn it. I just wanted to be a kid!

I stood up, pushing the chair in and waited quietly for him to do the same. I wanted to do whatever we were going to do and get it over with so I could go to bed and formulate my next plan.

He seemed hurt, but that only satisfied me. God I hated him.

--

**Richie's POV -**

Damn it. I love you. Don't you see that?

I glared as he so casually shoved my affections away, forcing an unpleasant grimace on my face.

While I hadn't heard of the previous saying, I was familiar with 'beggar's can't be choosers' and I felt like it was sort of applying to me here.

He wouldn't have my affections, and that didn't work out well for me because he was the only person that was good enough for me, and so, it was only natural he would have to be with me.

Even if I married, he would still be with me. At least, that's the fantasy I imagined for myself.

I stood up and grabbed him before I could stop myself.

It was so cliché, but I kissed him. I kissed him quickly and then pushed him off me, dusting myself off.

"You're filthy. Go take a bath."

I grumbled, not bothering to see his reaction to my sudden decision.

I turned and walked away before he could question me. I was sick of being ignored by him. It was his obvious stubborn nature that made me act this way.

That's right. It was _his_ fault.

--

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hey, another chapter! This one is 5 and a half pages long. Not bad eh?

Um, the last chapter was called 'A Playwright' and I actually got a question about that. Now that I looked back it, it does some odd huh? I called it that because usually, when you call someone a 'Playwright' it means they are manipulating a situation, and I feel like there were a lot of 'Playwrights' in that chapter - Richie and Bloo, being the main ones.

This chapter is just about the transition into being with Richie almost all of his time. Of course, Mac is a bit of a rebel and is busy thinking of ways to use his mind's resource to see Foster's, all the while maintaining a stable relationship with Richie so that he doesn't ruin his entire life. Mac doesn't want to admit it, but he thinks it's kind of exciting and all :P

Richie is getting pissed and starting to realize Mac doesn't 'swing that way', but being a little spoiled brat - he wants his way even if it doesn't make everyone happy. He's just throwing a tantrum, as usual.

I'm not sure what the next chapter will hold, but idea's are always welcome!


	14. I Know

**Mac's POV -**

There was a moment of silence after he kissed me, I couldn't help but fume that he had done so. My face was redder than a beet… weren't those purple?

I _swore_ could have turned purple if I had wanted to.

Instead of being shocked, I was upset. I was upset because he was doing it again, and I was upset because he was a total loser for not leaving me alone.

But finally, a bath…

_Alright so maybe that kiss did bother me a little_. That's for me to know and no one else to find out.

I had no idea where a bathroom was. So this might be a bit interesting.

Without Richie's guidance, I was more useless than this giant house than a blind man. I peered around the dining all, squinting at the blaring lights above me and then turning to scope the rest of the room. I had a few choices, and I knew one of them would lead to the kitchen.

I shook the shivers of doubt off my shoulders and huffed a few manly breathes to compose myself. I was a smart kid. If I could figure out how to get out of a locked closet with some gum, a skateboard and a magnet then I could find a bathroom for goodness sake!

Before I could stop myself, my pride took over and moved my legs for me. I checked through the host of doors until I found one that lead to a hall that seemed 'safe' enough. It seemed familiar, even though I had never been down it in my life.

I cautiously made my way down the hallway, wondering exactly how lost I could get and how easy it _should _be to find a bathroom in a mansion this size.

I knocked on every door and peeked, but found nothing.

No, I take that back. I did find bathroom's, but they were nothing but ruthless teasers to my growing need for hygiene. What kind of _bath_room doesn't have a bath or shower in it? They're just sissy powder rooms without them.

Finally, I led myself back to the entry way and I could at least choose which hallway Richie's room was down. As soon as I got my confidence, it was stolen. I stopped in my tracks an backed up, my face flushing.

If this was the hallway Richie lived down, it might mean his parents did, too! All the rooms looked fancy, so I wouldn't be able to just pick one and hope it doesn't belong to someone.

I sighed to myself and smacked my forehead.

How hard could this be?!

--

**Richie's POV -**

It was half-way down the hall I realized I had left Mac by himself, and he wasn't going to be able to find his way. I came to this conclusion after I rushed back to show him the way, but he had already disappeared.

I had only hoped that he had found something. There was plenty of bathroom's in my house, I just hoped that he would be intelligent enough to find one down the opposite hall.

Somehow, I knew he hadn't and I was growing more worried by the minute. If my father or one of the servants ran into him, it would be bad. Not that he wasn't supposed to be here, but seeing him wear the pajama's my great aunt gave me last Christmas was no doubt infuriate them.

I snuffled, fixing my hair out of nervousness. I wondered long halls while whispering the name 'Mac' under my breathe, hoping it might catch on the wind and carry my plea's to him.

Out of desperation, I retreated to my own room, where a hidden door in the back of my walk in closet led to a smaller, sub-room with a plethora of AV equipment and high tech televisions made up my personal security system. When I was bored, I tended to frame maids with false accusations and stolen jewelry and then film it for my own amusement, explaining my little crystal ball hideaway.

I cracked my knuckles and turned the system on, clicking a few times was all it took to bring up my various camera feeds. I peered through all of them. At least one camera had been placed in each hall and a few of the guest bedrooms.

Mac did not show up on the screen as expected. I smacked my forehead, thinking about how far he had actually wandered into the estate.

_This could be bad._

--

Mac's POV -

So I had found a shower, finally.

I had checked in every drawer, closet and cabinet for personal belongings, and there were none, so I assumed this room was a guest one. Once I had confirmed my suspcisions, it was straight to soap and water land from there.

But even after the bath, feeling clean and weightless, I was still in a whole mess of trouble.

I had no idea where I was and how to get back.

I had wandered through halls and turned corners without thinking, all I knew was that it was possible that I was in the living quarters by all the bedrooms I had found.

I kind of liked this room. Perhaps I could have this one?

I felt a little bit like Goldie Locks now, but I mean, I hadn't meant to bust into somebody's 'space' if it was one. This place felt more like a hotel than a home, and in some ways, that satisfied me.

I fell down, back-first on the cushy, floral print bed. Sighing, I peered brown eyes up into the stucco ceiling, trying to make patterns out of the dots. I spread my arms and legs wide, as if I was making a snow angel. The best snow angel I had ever made had been with Bloo as the halo…

I closed my eyes and sighed in a soft of relief and woe. A sad smile cross my face and I looked with a hopeless face to the lap beside me, wishing it was a phone…

Wait. It was a phone.

A smile crossed my face larger than I had planned for, and I rushed like a mad man towards the plain white cordless phone. As if on a sugar rush, I quickly dialed numbers in excitement and bounced quietly as I waited for the voice on the other side to welcome me.

It rung a few times. Then again… and again.

Finally, the answering machine ran.

I frowned instantly, and set down the phone. Call me a loser, but a little part of me lost hope.

I tried again, and again, but it was always the same - No answer.

If I had ever wanted Frankie not to be busy, it would be now.

On the last try, someone however, _did _pick-up. It just… was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.

"Yes, Yes! Hello?!"

Duchess.

In a whiney, raspy voice unique to her, she hissed into the phone like an angry cobra. I cringed, but spoke anyways.

"Hey… Duchess."

"Yes, this is her highness speaking."

"Right… well… I want to talk to Bloo."

"He is not available!"

In the background, I heard a familiar whine of 'Yes I am!'. My smile tilted only slightly to accommodate the joy of hearing his voice once more. I waited patiently for him to wrestle the phone from her, and with a few grunts and gasps, I could finally hear his high pitched panting on the other side.

"Yes! Who is it? Did I win?"

"It's Mac."

The line went silent, and I knew I must have disappointed him or something.

"… Bloo… I-"

"Is the phone bugged?"

"What do you mean is the phone bugged? Bloo, this isn't a stupid action movie."

I spat, a little to brutally I think. He watched too much TV. I heard him giggle on the other side, and I giggled as well.

It was just like we used to be.

"I just took a bath… man was it an adventure! I couldn't find a stupid bathroom for like, 3 hours! You'd think the place would be full of them with all the poop that comes out of their mouth's!"

There was loud and obnoxious giggle at the other end, and I heard the phone drop to the floor with a 'thud'. I, too, chuckled at my genius and waited patiently for Bloo to respond. Finally, a little color in my cheeks.

"R-r-really? You couldn't find a bathroom?!"

"Well Yeah I could, just not one with a bath tub in it. But I did finally, so now I don't smell like Eduardo's socks."

"Whew. Those are stinky, let me tell ya…"

I rolled on the bed, taking the phone with me. It was such a nice room, with a TV and a large, queen sized bed all to myself. This was the good life, just like when we went on vacation.

"Bloo, this room is so nice. The bed is the like, the perfect bouncer! Better than the moon-walk blow-ups!"

"Really? I really wish I could be there, pal."

I did it again. I made him sad.

I frowned to myself, and sniffled slightly. The giggles, the good mood, it all dampened and grayed once again.

"I do, too."

"I love you, buddy."

"…Me, too."  
_  
Click._

I felt a queasy feeling in my stomach as I put the phone back on it's charger. There was no talking after that. I hadn't talked since the dinner table.

I had this weird, childish feeling of wanting someone to hold me. I don't know why Bloo made me feel this way.

It was wrong. Totally wrong.

I shook my head and walked to the sink, pouring cold water onto my hands and splashing it against my face. I stared into the mirror intensely and…

_With one final sneer, I spat on my reflection._

_--_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So this last chapter was a little powerful. The last caption really reflects how Mac feels about himself right now, and it makes it by far my favorite chapter yet.

He pretty much is starting to loathe himself for things he can't control. He can't find any other explaination for it and feels like he is making Bloo sad.

And then there's a little bit of more 'realistic' love confession. I'm not saying this is totally 'love'. You can make what you want of it. Personally, it has deeper meaning then 'Lol let's be bf and gf'.

It's more of a platonic love right now, but Mac hates himself even for that. I think he's beginning to hate the word 'Love' in general. He doesn't trust himself, I guess.

**Thanks for sticking with me all you awesome readers! Another chapter will be cranked out, soon!**


	15. Do and Dare

**Richie's POV -**

So I fell in love with this scruffy little boy - My first true love, actually.

I say little because I am taller than him and a lot more powerful. I mean, I did take two years of kick-boxing, that had to count for something right?

As I peered through my various monitors, I looked closely to try and see even a scrap of evidence Mac had passed through one of many secured hallways, but no trace of him yet.

I was worried sick he would run into a maid, or get himself lost, or make a mess…

He was unpredictable, and I had already made him angry. I didn't want him destroying my home.

I trailed my eyes away the screen for one moment to pull off my blazer, which was beginning to cook me like a steak in the un-air-conditioned closed quarters of a half-closet full of machines. I swear I would have been a fully cooked turkey if I had let it sit on my shoulders any longer.

After carefully draping it across the back of the chair, fixed my hair out of force habit and turned back to the monitors - where, unexpectedly, Mac had appeared on one of the screens.

I checked the code in the corner to identify his location, and rushed out to go greet him. Before exiting, I checked if my white button-up had any sweat stains on it, and there was none that I could see thankfully. I straightened my black dress pants and quickly caught him by the shoulder with an unintentionally warm 'Hey!'.

When he turned around, he looked like a ghost. His face was pale and his eyes seemed glossed over with tears, he shoved my hand away and turned to wipe his eyes and I felt maybe, I had said something wrong?

"…Are you okay?"

I asked, softly, as not to seem to sarcastic. I tried my best not to sound intimidating or sarcastic, even though he was making an awful fuss over something stupid, over something he should have been honored to have.

Mac shrugged and replied 'Yeah, fine' under his breath before fully turning to me. I knew something was wrong with him, but I was afraid I'd just make it worse.

I figured the best thing I could do to make it up to him was lighten the mood.

"Do you want to play Time Racer's…?"

He nodded gently to himself, although his eyes looked at me, they went through me like x-ray vision. He was not himself, and I felt sort of guilty that I probably had something to do with that.

--

**Mac's POV -**

I was such an idiot. I couldn't even figure out what I wanted anymore.

The fuzzy feeling in my stomach made my eyes water, and by the time I had gathered myself enough to leave the room, I was in an ultimate state of self-loathing.

I hated myself for even thinking about Bloo that way, because it felt disgusting.

I had never felt so gross in my life. I wished I could have taken another shower to wash the feeling off, but even after washing my hands it still lingered, so I figured it had nothing to do with any real hygiene at all.

My legs trembled, even as I stood in front of Richie. They twitched and wiggled, and my tired body only wanted to rest.

I was very thankful of his company, even though I also felt like being alone for a while. I couldn't make up my mind and it was frustrating me.

I swear I would lose my mind any time soon.

But, until then, Time Racers 3 did sound inviting.

He led me to a 'game room' with a bunch of fancy toys in it, mostly things you've find in casino's or bars. Like expensive darts and pool tables. In the end, there was a couch with a TV so large I figured I wouldn't even be able to make out the characters.

I sat down in the corner of the couch, farthest away from Richie, and dully picked up a controller.

Richie was prattling about what level he had gotten to, but my mind was elsewhere.

I played with my mind on auto-pilot. I can't remember what happened half the time, but Richie seemed to be having more fun then I was. I couldn't say I didn't crack a smile, but I can say that it didn't last long.

I felt like such a loser for acting so solemn. It was just bringing everyone down.

I sighed and decided to force myself to cheer up whether I liked it or not.

Even if I did feel like a sick weirdo, I didn't have to act on it.

He didn't mean 'love' in romantic way, I told myself, I was his best friend and I was just confused by Richie.

It was all just a silly mistake.

After adopting my false reality, I was able to be more cheerful.

When we were finished with Time Racers, we moved onto Pool.

I had no idea how to play Pool before this, but Richie was able to teach me the basics.

Of course, he won anyways.

We acted like old pals, laughing and making jokes. It was casual, as if I wasn't being forced with blackmail to be here at all.

"3-ball in the side pocket. Watch."

"No way! You can't make that!"

"I've been playing Pool longer than you have. How much do you want to wager I won't make it?"

"2 bucks."

"Money is meaningless to me, how about a dare?"  
"A dare? What kind of dare?"

"I don't know. I'll think of one after I smoke you."

Richie laughed his usual snotty, nasally laugh and then got into position. With utmost concentration, he smacked the cue-ball against his stick and landed what I thought was surely impossible.

He came up, looking triumphant and looking at me with an expectation I didn't want.

Ugh. What a stupid bet.

"No fair. You hustled me."

"No I didn't. I told you all along I'd make it, you just didn't believe me."

"Fine, Fine. But nothing that will get me in jail… or make me throw up."

"C'mon, I have a whole host of weird stuff my dad keeps in the fridge…"

"No, I'm not going to eat anything rotten or weird tasting!"

"Fine… then give me a minute…"

--

**Richie POV -**

I paced a small square of the room, rubbing my chin. Occasionally, a bang would pop out of place and get in front of my eyes, making me pause and fix it back into place before beginning my thought process once again.

What was a good dare?

I couldn't think of anything off the top of my head at first, but soon, idea's began to flow.

Idea's I would sooner share with my mother than with Mac.

"I have a good one, but you have to have an open mind."

"…As long as it's not too weird…"

"It's not, swear."

"Fine."

"We have to go into my room, with all the lights off… while I tell you about the guy that got killed in there."

"WHAT?! Someone died in your room? Y-You're making it up!"

"Nope. It was before we lived here."

"You're lying! This mansion is new, isn't it?"

"Renovated, but not new."

"I don't believe you! This is kid stuff, anyway."

"Then you'll do it?"

He hesitated and poked out his bottom lip in though.

Cute, I thought. Then remembered that 'cute' wasn't in the manly dictionary and quickly substituted 'Handsome'.

"Yeah… I'll do it."

My smile grew sly from there, and I couldn't help that fox-like expression that took over my face. I snorted a laugh and raveled my arm around his shoulders, lowering my head near his to look at him with an intentionally pompous smirk.

"I'll make you a believer yet!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A little lighter chapter.

I won't give away the next chapter. I'll let you think about it yourself, and later today I'll write the next chapter.

Mac is starting to lower his defenses, probably because Richie is charming him for now. No, Richie isn't always a pompous asshole - that's just when he wants something :P.

_Bored-is-my-favorite-word:_ Thanks for the review! I did try to make this story a bit more 'mature' the rest. Mature without making it uncomfortable. Personally, random gay romance between character that is supposed to be 8 and anything else is just kinda weird, so I had to make it believable that he is not only 17, but is still the same ol' Mac that we love and know.

Of course, I gave myself a bit of 'Writer's Freedom' with this because sometimes, it's just impossible to predict how Mac would react to certain situations that would never come about in the actual show. I try to judge my character's on what would sound good coming out of their mouth, or what would sound good in their real voices - if I can't picture them saying something like that in their own voices, then I know I'm out of character.

Also, I agree there are many bad FHFIF's fic's out there. Before I made this one, I was surfing to try and find a good one - and I actually only found about 5 that were worthwhile. Only two of them had ANY sort of romance in them.


End file.
